'*^u, 

T 


If-' 


Sentiment 


God  Keep  You,  Dearest 


°f 


CHRISTY 
GIFT   'BOOK 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW    YORK 

ZMOFFAT,    YA^D  ^ND    COMPANY 
1910 


Copyright,  1910,  by 
MOFFAT.  YARD  AND  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK 


Published  October,  1910 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Unchangeable  .     .      .      W.  Shakespeare  ...  3 

To  His  Love     .     .     .     .      W.  Shakespeare  ...  4 

God  Keep  You  ....     Mary   Devere       ...  5 

To    Celia Ben  Jonson     ....  6 

Song Sir  John  Suckling     .     .  7 

A    Picture 8 

Love's    Farewell      .     .     .     Michael   Drayton      .     .  9 
The    Passionate    Shepherd 

to  His  Love   ....     Christopher  Marloive     .  10 

To   Aurora n 

A  Rondeau  to  Ethel     .     .     Austin  Dobson     ...  12 

A  Ditty Sir  P.  Sidney  ....  13 

The  True  Beauty  .     .     .      T.  Careiv 14 

Go,  Lovely  Rose!    .      .      .     E.    Waller       ....  15 

Frustra W.  Shakespeare   .     .     .  16 

To  Althea  from  Prison    .      Colonel  Lovelace      .     .  17 
To  Give  My  Love  Good- 
morrow      Thomas  Heywood     .      .  19 

Constancy Earl  of  Rochester     .     .  20 

When   Twilight   Dews      .      Thomas  Moore    ...  21 

When  We  Two  Parted     .     Lord  Byron     ....  22 

Song R,  B.  Sheridan     ...  24 

The  Indian  Serenade  .     .     P.  B.  Shelley  ....  25 

A  Dilemma 26 

Jean Robert  Burns  ....  27 

A  Lost  Love     ....//.   F.  Lyte     ....  29 

To  a  Young  Lady  .     .     .     W.  Coviper     ....  30 

A  Red,  Red  Rose   .     .     .     Robert  Burns  ....  31 

To    Mary Robert  Burns  ....  32 

Parting Gerald  Massey     ...  34 

The  Sleeping  Beauty  .     .     Samuel  Rogers                .  35 

V 


Sally  in  Our  Alley  .      .      . 
The    Time    I've    Lost    in 

Wooing 

Absence 

Believe  Me,  if  All  Those  En- 
dearing   Young    Charms 
Du  bist  wie  eine  Blume     . 
The  Kiss,  Dear  Maid  .      . 
Highland    Farm 
She  Walks  in  Beauty  . 
When    He,    Who    Adores 

Thee 

I   Fear   Thy  Kisses      .      . 
The     Loved     One     Ever 

Near 

Oh !     Say     Not     Woman's 

Heart  Is  Bought 
One  Way  of  Love 
When  Thou  Art  Nigh  . 
On  a  Girdle  .  .  .  . 

Serenade  

To  the  End 

If   She  but  Knew    .      .      . 

Mine 

Happy    Love      . 

To  One  in  Paradise     . 

Maud 

So  Sweet  Love  Seem'd 

In  a  Gondola     . 

Annie  Laurie 

What  Shall  I  Do  for  My 

Love?    

When    Stars    Are    in    the 

Quiet  Skies 


Henry  Carey  ....     36 


Thomas  Moore 


Thomas  Moore 


38 
39 

40 


From   German   of  Heine    41 
Lord  Byron 
Robert  Burns  . 
Lord  Byron 


Thomas  Moore 
P.  B.  Shelley  . 


42 
43 

45 

46 
47 


Goethe 48 


T.  L.  Peacock  . 
R.  Browning  . 
Thomas  Moore  . 
Edmund  Waller  . 
Thomas  Hood 
C.  G.  Rossetti  . 
A.  O'Shaughnessy 
Dinah  M.  Craik  . 
Charles  Mackay  . 
Edgar  Allan  Poe 
Alfred  Tennyson 


49 
50 


The  Lost  Mistress  . 
Is  It  Good-bye  ?  . 

R.  Browning   .... 
W.   E.   Henley      .      .      . 

68 

60 

Somewhere  or  Other     . 
Ask  Me  No  More   . 
I  Will  Not  Let  Thee  Go  . 
Lovesight       
A  Serenade   
When    Other    Friends   Are 
Round   Thee    .... 
The  Brookside    .... 
Oh,  Fear  to  Call  It  Loving 
Love    at    Sea      .... 
Night    Thoughts 
Lonsrintr 

C.    G.  Rossetti      .      .      . 
Alfred    Tennyson 
Robert  Bridges 
D.  G.  Rossetti     .     .     . 
E.  C.  Pinkney  .... 

G.  P.  Morris  .... 

Lord  Houghton     . 
E.  B.  Browning   . 
From  Theophile  Gautier 
Coventry  Patmore 
Matthew   Arnold 

70 

71 

72 

74 
75 

76 
77 
79 
80 
82 
8l 

The  Miller's  Daughter     . 
Song    
In  the  Year  That's   Come 
and  Gone  
Rondel       

Alfred    Tennyson 
A.  O'Shaughnessy 

W.  E.  Henley     .     .     . 
John  Payne     .... 

84 

85 

87 

88 

A  Love  Symphony  . 
If  Thou  Must  Love  Me     . 
Song    
The   Night   Has   a   Thou- 
sand   Eyes      .... 
My  Delight  and  Thy  De- 
light       

A.   O'Shaughnessy     . 
E.  B.  Browning   . 
C,   Monkhouse 

F.    Bourdillon 
Robert  Bridges 

89 
90 

9i 
92 

Qt 

Willowwood  

D.   G.  Rossetti 

Qd. 

Geraldine,  Geraldine   . 
Never   the   Time   and   the 
Place    
You  Played   and  Sang     . 
To  Daphne   

W.  E.  Henley     .     .     . 

R.  Browning  .... 
W.  E.  Henley     .     .     . 
Sir  JV.  Besant 

95 

96 

97 
oS 

She  Dwelt  Among  the  Un- 
trodden Ways       .     .     . 

W.  Wordsworth  .     .     . 

99 

Vll 


A    Match      

A.  C.  Swinburne  . 

100 

C.   G.  Rossetti     .     .     . 

102 

omening 
We   Parted    in    Sadness    . 

Charles  Fenno  Hoffman 

103 

Tenny  Kissed  Me     ... 

Leigh  Hunt     .... 

104 

1 

A  Ballade  of  Roses      .      . 

/.  H.  McCarthy  .     .     . 

105 

My  Love  to  Me     .      .     . 

W.  E.  Henley     .     .     . 

107 

With   Strawberries  .     .     . 

W.  E.  Henley     .     .     . 

1  08 

8? 

Ballade  of  Forgotten  Loves 

Arthur    Grissom 

109 

H.  C.  Bunner  .... 

III 

4 

3d 

A.  O'Shaughnessy 

112 

^M 

OUllg 

W.  £.  Henley      .     .     . 

113 

%i& 

H    Aide           .     .     .     . 

114 

w 

In  the  livening  .... 
A   Nice   Correspondent 

Frederick  Locker  . 

"5 

9W 

Which?          

The  Harvard  Lampoon  . 

118 

The  Wanderer   .... 

Austin  Dobson     . 

119 

ihrt 

No   Jewell'd    Beauty    .      . 

Gerald  Massey    . 

120 

m 

When    She    Comes    Home 

J.  W.  Riley          .     •     • 

122 

True  Woman     .... 

D.  G.  Rossetti     .     .     . 

123 

Oh,   No—  Not  E'en   When 

First  We  Loved  .     .     . 

Thomas  Moore    .     .     . 

124 

|l_Vw     9 

Among  the   Heather    .     . 

George  Arnold    . 

125 

rSft 

They  Know  Not  My  Heart 

Thomas  Moore   .     .     • 

126 

How  Many  Times  . 

T.  L.  Beddoes     .     .     . 

127 

r& 

Farewell!    If   Ever   Fond- 

1 

k 

i  S*> 

est   Prayer      .     .     .     . 

Lord  Byron     .     .     .     . 

128 

f 

n 

t 

viii 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


God   Keep   You,    Dearest 

In   Tea-cup   Times    . 

When  We  Two  Parted     .... 

The  Light  That  Lies  in  Woman's  Eyes 

This  Hour  My  Utmost  Art  I  Prove  . 

Maud    Is    Not    Seventeen 

I  Will  Not  Let  Thee  Go  . 

Love   at   Sea        

The  Loved  One's  Face     .... 
She  Listen'd  Like  a  Cushat  Dove  . 

The   Bathers 

Which? 


.     Frontispiece 
.  Facing   Page     12 

22 

"  38 


5° 
60 

72 

80 

96 

1 02 

no 

118 


IX 


a 


$ongs  of  ^entiment 


THE  UNCHANGEABLE 


BY   WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE 

O  NEVER  say  that  I  was  false  of  heart, 
Though  absence  seem'd  my  flame  to  qualify: 
As  easy  might  I  from  myself  depart 
As  from  my  soul,  which  in  thy  breast  doth 
lie; 

That  is  my  home  of  love;  if  I  have  ranged, 
Like  him  that  travels,  I  return  again, 
Just  to  the  time,  not  with  the  time  exchanged, 
So  that  myself  bring  water  for  my  stain. 

Never  believe,  though  in  my  nature  reign'd 
All  frailties  that  besiege  all  kinds  of  blood, 
That  it  could  so  preposterously  be  stain'd 
To  leave  for  nothing  all  thy  sum  of  gdod : 

For  nothing  this  wide  universe  I  call, 
Save  thou,  my  rose:  in  it  thou  art  my  all. 


TO  HIS  LOVE 


BY   WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE 

SHALL  I  compare  thee  to  a  summer's  day? 
Thou  art  more  lovely  and  more  temperate : 
Rough  winds  do  shake  the  darling  buds  of 

May, 
And  summer's  lease  hath  all  too  short  a  date ; 

Sometime  too  hot  the  eye  of  heaven  shines, 
And  often  is  his  gold  complexion  dimm'd: 
And  every  fair  from  fair  sometime  declines, 
By  chance,  or  nature's  changing  course,  un- 
trimm'd. 

But  thy  eternal  summer  shall  not  fade 

Nor  lose  possession  of  that  fair  thou  owest; 

Nor  shall  Death  brag  thou  wanderest  in  his 

shade, 
When  in  eternal  lines  to  time  thougrowest: — 

So  long  as  men  can  breathe,  or  eyes  can  see, 
So  long  lives  this,  and  this  gives  life  to  thee. 


GOD  KEEP  YOU 

BY   MARY  DEVERE 

GOD  keep  you,  dearest,  all  this  lonely  night: 

The  winds  are  still, 

The  moon   drops  down  behind  the  west- 
ern hill; 
God  keep  you  safely,  dearest,  till  the  light. 

God  keep  you  then  when  slumber  melts 
away, 

And  care  and  strife 

Take  up  new  arms  to  fret  our  waking  life, 
God  keep  you  through  the  battle  of  the  day. 

God  keep  you.    Nay,  beloved  soul,  how  vain, 

How  poor  is  prayer! 

I  can  but  say  again,  and  yet  again, 
God  keep  you  every  time  and  everywhere. 


TO  CELIA 

BY  BEN   JONSON 

I 

DRINK  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes, 

And  I  will  pledge  with  mine; 
Or  leave  a  kiss  but  in  the  cup, 

And  I'll  not  look  for  wine. 
The  thirst  that  from  the  soul  doth  rise 

Doth  ask  a  drink  divine; 
But  might  I  of  Jove's  nectar  sup, 

I  would  not  change  for  thine. 

II 
I  sent  thee  late  a  rosy  wreath, 

Not  so  much  honoring  thee, 
As  giving  it  a  hope  that  there 

It  could  not  withered  be; 
But  thou  thereon  didst  only  breathe, 

And  sent'st  it  back  to  me, 
Since  when  it  grows,  and  smells,  I  swear, 

Not  of  itself  but  thee. 
6 


SONG 


BY   SIR  JOHN   SUCKLING 

I  PRITHEE  send  me  back  my  heart, 

Since  I  cannot  have  thine, 
For  if  from  yours  you  will  not  part, 

Why,  then,  shouldst  thou  have  mine? 

Yet  now  I  think  on't,  let  it  lie, 

To  find  it  were  in  vain; 
For  thou'rt  a  thief  in  either  eye 

Would  steal  it  back  again. 

Why  should  two  hearts  in  one  breast  lie, 
And  yet  not  lodge  together? 

O  Love !  where  is  thy  sympathy, 
If  thus  our  breasts  thou  sever? 

But  love  is  such  a  mystery, 

I  cannot  find  it  out; 
For  when  I  think  I'm  best  resolved, 

I  then  am  in  most  doubt. 

7 


Then  farewell  care,  and  farewell  woe, 

I  will  no  longer  pine: 
For  I'll  believe  I  have  her  heart 

As  much  as  she  has  mine. 


A  PICTURE 

SWEET  LOVE,  if  thou  wilt  gain  a  monarch's 

glory, 
Subdue  her  heart,  who  makes  me  glad  and 

sorry : 

Out  of  thy  golden  quiver 
Take  thou  thy  strongest  arrow 
That  will  through  bone  and  marrow, 
And  me  and  thee  of  grief  and  fear  deliver : — 
But  come  behind,  for  if  she  look  upon  thee, 
Alas!  poor  Love!  then  thou  art  woe-begone 
thee. 


LOVE'S  FAREWELL 

BY    MICHAEL   DRAYTON 

SINCE  there's  no  help,  come,  let  us  kiss  and 
part, — 

Nay,  I  have  done,  you  get  no  more  of  me ; 
And  I  am  glad,  yea,  glad  with  all  my  heart, 

That  thus  so  cleanly  I  myself  can  free. 

Shake  hands  for  ever,  cancel  all  our  vows; 

And  when  we  meet  at  any  time  again, 
Be  it  not  seen  in  either  of  our  brows 

That  we  one  jot  of  former  love  retain. 

Now  at  the  last  gasp  of  love's  latest  breath, 
When,  his  pulse  failing,  passion  speechless 
lies, 

When  faith  is  kneeling  by  his  bed  of  death, 
And  innocence  is  closing  up  his  eyes, 

— Now  if  thou  would'st,  when  all  have  given 

him  over, 
From  death  to  life  thou  might'st  him  yet 

recover ! 

9 


THE  PASSIONATE  SHEPHERD 
TO  HIS  LOVE 

BY   CHRISTOPHER   MARLOWE 

COME  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love, 
And  we  will  all  the  pleasures  prove, 
That  hill  and  valley,  grove  and  field, 
And  all  the  craggy  mountains  yield. 

And  we  will  sit  upon  the  rocks, 
Seeing  the  shepherds  feed  their  flocks, 
By  shallow  rivers,  to  whose  falls 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals. 

And  I  will  make  thee  beds  of  roses, 
And  a  thousand  fragrant  posies, 
A  cap  of  flowers,  and  a  kirtle, 
Embroidered  all  with  leaves  of  myrtle; 

A  gown  made  of  the  finest  wool, 
Which  from  our  pretty  lambs  we  pull; 
Fair-lined  slippers  for  the  cold, 
With  buckles  of  the  purest  gold. 


A  belt  of  straw  and  ivy  buds, 
With  coral  clasps  and  amber  studs; 
And  if  these  pleasures  may  thee  move, 
Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  love. 

The  shepherd  swains  shall  dance  and  sing 
For  thy  delight  each  May-morning. 
If  these  delights  thy  mind  may  move, 
Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  love. 

TO  AURORA 

O   IF   thou   knew'st   how   thou   thyself   dost 

harm, 
And  dost  prejudge  thy  bliss,   and  spoil  my 

rest; 
Then  thou  would'st  melt  the  ice  out  of  thy 

breast 
And  thy  relenting  heart  would  kindly  warm. 

O  if  thy  pride  did  not  our  joys  controul, 
What  world  of  loving  wonders  should'st  thou 

see! 

For  if  I  saw  thee  once  transform'd  in  me, 
Then  in  thy  bosom  I  would  pour  my  soul, 
ii 


A  RONDEAU  TO  ETHEL 

BY  AUSTIN   DOBSON 

(Who  wishes  she  had  lived — 

"  In  tea-cup   times  of  hood  and  hoop, 

Or  while  the  patch  was  worn."} 

"  IN  tea-cup  times!  "    The  style  of  dress 
Would  suit  your  beauty,  I  confess ; 
BELiNDA-like,  the  patch  you'd  wear; 
I  picture  you  with  powdered  hair, — 
You'd  make  a  charming  Shepherdess! 

And  I — no  doubt — could  well  express 
SIR  PLUME'S  complete  conceitedness, — 
Could  poise  a  clouded  cane  with  care 
"  In  tea-cup  times !  " 

The  parts  would  fit  precisely — yes! 

We  should  achieve  a  huge  success! 
You  should  disdain,  and  I  despair, 
With  quite  the  true  Augustan  air; 

But   .    .    .   could  I  love  more,  or  less, — 
"  In  tea-cup  times?  " 

12 


In  Tea-cup  Times 

f 


A  DITTY 

BY  SIR   P.    SIDNEY 

MY  true-love  hath  my  heart,  and  I  have  his, 
By  just  exchange  one  for  another  given: 
I  hold  his  dear,  and  mine  he  cannot  miss, 
There  never  was  a  better  bargain  driven : 
My  true-love  hath  my  heart,  and  I  have 
his. 

His  heart  in  me  keeps  him  and  me  in  one, 
My   heart   in  him   his   thoughts   and   senses 

guides : 

He  loves  my  heart,  for  once  it  was  his  own, 
I  cherish  his  because  in  me  it  bides  : 

My  true-love  hath  my  heart,  and  I  have 

his. 


£3^%^ 


THE  TRUE  BEAUTY 

BY   T.    CAREW 

HE  that  loves  a  rosy  cheek 

Or  a  coral  lip  admires, 
Or  from  star-like  eyes  doth  seek 

Fuel  to  maintain  his  fires; 
As  old  Time  makes  these  decay, 
So  his  flames  must  waste  away. 

But  a  smooth  and  steadfast  mind, 
Gentle  thoughts,  and  calm  desires, 

Hearts  with  equal  love  combined, 
Kindle  never-dying  fires: — 

Where  these  are  not,  I  despise 

Lovely  cheeks  or  lips  or  eyes. 


GO,  LOVELY  ROSE! 

BY   E.    WALLER 

Go,  lovely  Rose! 
Tell  her,  that  wastes  her  time  and  me, 

That  now  she  knows, 
When  I  resemble  her  to  thee, 
How  sweet  and  fair  she  seems  to  be. 

Tell  her  that's  young 
And  shuns  to  have  her  graces  spied, 

That  hadst  thou  sprung 
In  deserts,  where  no  men  abide, 
Thou  must  have  uncommended  died. 

Small  is  the  worth 
Of  beauty  from  the  light  retired: 

Bid  her  come  forth, 
Suffer  herself  to  be  desired, 
And  not  blush  so  to  be  admired. 

15 


Then  die!  that  she 
The  common  fate  of  all  things  rare 

May  read  in  thee: 
How  small  a  part  of  time  they  share 
That  are  so  wondrous  sweet  and  fair! 


FRUSTRA 


BY   WILLIAM   SHAKESPEARE 

TAKE,  O  take  those  lips  away 
That  so  sweetly  were  forsworn, 
And  those  eyes,  the  break  of  day, 
Lights  that  do  mislead  the  morn: 
But  my  kisses  bring  again, 

Bring  again — 
Seals  of  love,  but  seal'd  in  vain, 

Seal'd  in  vain 


TO  ALTHEA  FROM  PRISON 

BY   COLONEL    LOVELACE 

WHEN  Love  with  unconfined  wings 

Hovers  within  my  gates, 
And  my  divine  Althea  brings 

To  whisper  at  the  grates; 
When  I  lie  tangled  in  her  hair 

And  fetter'd  to  her  eye, 
The  Gods  that  wanton  in  the  air 

Know  no  such  liberty. 

When  flowing  cups  run  swiftly  round 

With  no  allaying  Thames, 
Our  careless  heads  with  roses  bound, 

Our  hearts  with  loyal   flames; 
When  thirsty  grief  in  wine  we  steep, 

When  healths  and  draughts  go  free- 
Fishes  that  tipple  in  the  deep 

Know  no  such  liberty. 

When,   (like  committed  linnets),  I 
With  shriller  throat  shall  sing 
17 


f^  /r*,^**** 

\JLj*"*r\2>C\ 

CMIIIHI  i? 


The  sweetness,  mercy,  majesty 
And  glories  of  my  King; 

When  I  shall  voice  aloud  how  good 
He  is,  how  great  should  be, 

Enlarged  winds,  that  curl  the  flood, 
Know  no  such  liberty. 

Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 

Nor  iron  bars  a  cage; 
Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 

That  for  an  hermitage; 
If  I  have  freedom  in  my  love 

And  in  my  soul  am  free, 
Angels  alone,  that  soar  above, 

Enjoy  such  liberty. 


18 


TO  GIVE  MY  LOVE  GOOD-MORROW 

BY   THOMAS    HEYWOOD 

PACK,  clouds,  away,  and  welcome  day, 

With  night  we  banish  sorrow; 
Sweet  air  blow  soft,  mount  larks  aloft 

To  give  my  Love  good-morrow ! 
Wings  from  the  wind  to  please  her  mind 

Notes  from  the  lark  I'll  borrow; 
Bird,  prune  thy  wing,  nightingale  sing, 

To  give  my  Love  good-morrow; 
To  give  my  Love  good-morrow 
Notes  from  them  both  I'll  borrow. 

Wake  from  thy  nest,   Robin-red-breast, 

Sing,  birds,  in  every  furrow; 
And  from  each  hill,  let  music  shrill 
Give  my  fair  Love  good-morrow ! 
Blackbird  and  thrush  in  every  bush, 

Stare,  linnet,  and  cock-sparrow! 
You  pretty  elves,  amongst  yourselves 
Sing  my  fair  Love  good-morrow; 
To  give  my  Love  good-morrow 
Sing,  birds,  in  every  furrow  1 
19 

rf^x  <•  a«-££^ 


CONSTANCY 


BY   J.   WILMOT,    EARL   OF   ROCHESTER 

I  CANNOT  change,  as  others  do, 

Though  you  unjustly  scorn, 
Since  that  poor  swain  that  sighs  for  you, 

For  you  alone  was  born; 
No,  Phyllis,  no,  your  heart  to  move 

A  surer  way  I'll  try, — 
And  to  revenge  my  slighted  love, 

Will  still  love  on,  and  die. 

When,  kill'd  with  grief,  Amintas  lies, 

And  you  to  mind  shall  call 
The  sighs  that  now  unpitied  rise, 

The  tears  that  vainly  fall, 
That  welcome  hour  that  ends  his  smart 

Will  then  begin  your  pain, 
For  such  a  faithful  tender  heart 

Can  never  break  in  vain. 


WHEN  TWILIGHT  DEWS 


BY  THOMAS   MOORE 

WHEN  twilight  dews  are  falling  soft 

Upon  the  rosy  sea,  love, 
I  watch  the  star,  whose  beam  so  oft 

Has  lighted  me  to  thee,  love. 
And  thou,  too,  on  that  orb  so  dear, 

Dost  often  gaze  at  even, 
And  think,  though  lost  for  ever  here, 

Thou'lt  yet  be  mine  in  heaven. 

There's  not  a  garden  walk  I  tread, 

There's  not  a  flower  I  see,  love, 
But  brings  to  mind  some  hope  that's  fled, 

Some  joy  that's  gone  with  thee,  love. 
And  still  I  wish  that  hour  was  near, 

When,  friends  and  foes  forgiven, 
The  pains,  the  ills  we've  wept  through  here, 

May  turn  to  smiles  in  heaven. 


21 


WHEN  WE  TWO  PARTED 

BY    LORD   BYRON 

WHEN  we  two  parted 

In  silence  and  tears, 

Half  broken-hearted, 

To  sever  for  years, 

Pale  grew  thy  cheek  and  cold, 

Colder  thy  kiss  ; 

Truly  that  hour  foretold 

Sorrow  to  this ! 

The  dew  of  the  morning 
Sunk  chill  on  my  brow; 
It  felt  like  the  warning 
Of  what  I  feel  now. 
Thy  vows  are  all  broken, 
And  light  is  thy  fame: 
I  hear  thy  name  spoken 
And  share  in  its  shame. 

They  name  thee  before  me, 
A  knell  to  mine  ear; 
22 


When  We  Two  Parted 


\ 


tiS 

i 


p  rf) 


A  shudder  comes  o'er  me — 
Why  wert  thou  so  dear? 
They  know  not  I  knew  thee 
Who  knew  thee  too  well : 
Long,  long  shall  I  rue  thee, 
Too  deeply  to  tell. 

In  secret  we  met: 

In  silence  I  grieve 

That  thy  heart  could  forget, 

Thy  spirit  deceive. 

If  I  should  meet  thee 

After  long  years, 

How  should  I  greet  thee? — 

With  silence  and  tears. 


Jr 


SONG 

BY   RICHARD   BRINSLEY   SHERIDAN 

I  NE'ER  could  any  luster  see 

In  eyes  that  would  not  look  on  me; 

I  ne'er  saw  nectar  on  a  lip 

But  where  my  own  did  hope  to  sip. 

Has  the  maid  who  seeks  my  heart 

Cheeks  of  rose,  untouched  by  art? 

I  will  own  the  color  true 

When  yielding  blushes  aid  their  hue. 

Is  her  hand  so  soft  and  pure? 
I  must  press  it,  to  be  sure; 
Nor  can  I  be  certain  then, 
Till  it,  grateful,  press  again. 
Must  I,  with  attentive  eye, 
Watch  her  heaving  bosom  sigh? 
I  will  do  so  when  I  see 
That  heaving  bosom  sigh  for  me. 


THE  INDIAN  SERENADE 


BY   PERCY   BYSSHE   SHELLEY 

I  ARISE  from  dreams  of  thee 
In  the  first  sweet  sleep  of  night, 
When  the  winds  are  breathing  low 
And  the  stars  are  shining  bright. 
I  arise  from  dreams  of  thee, 
And  a  spirit  in  my  feet 
Hath  led  me — who  knows  how? 
To  thy  chamber-window,  Sweet! 

The  wandering  airs  they  faint 

On  the  dark,  the  silent  stream — 

The  champak  odors  fail 

Like  sweet  thoughts  in  a  dream; 

The  nightingale's  complaint 

It  dies  upon  her  heart, 

As  I  must  die  on  thine 

0  beloved  as  thou  art! 

Oh  lift  me  from  the  grass! 

1  die,  I  faint,  I  fail ! 

25 


Let  thy  love  in  kisses  rain 
On  my  lips  and  eyelids  pale. 
My  cheek  is  cold  and  white,  alas ! 
My  heart  beats  loud  and  fast; 
Oh!  press  it  close  to  thine  again 
Where  it  will  break  at  last. 


A  DILEMMA 

LADY,  when  I  behold  the  roses  sprouting 
Which  clad  in  damask  mantles  deck  the 

arbors, 
And  then  behold  your  lips  where  sweet 

love  harbors, 

My  eyes  present  me  with  a  double  doubt- 
ing: 
For   viewing   both    alike,    hardly   my   mind 

supposes 

Whether  the  roses  be  your  lips,  or  your  lips 
the  roses. 


JEAN 


BY   ROBERT   BURNS 

OF  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw 

I  dearly  like  the  West, 
For  there  the  bonnie  lassie  lives, 

The  lassie  I  lo'e  best : 
There  wild  woods  grow,  and  rivers  row, 

And  mony  a  hill  between; 
But  day  and  night  my  fancy's  flight 

Is  ever  wi'  my  Jean. 

I  see  her  in  the  dewy  flowers, 

I  see  her  sweet  and  fair: 
I  hear  her  in  the  tunefu'  birds, 

I  hear  her  charm  the  air: 
There's  not  a  bonnie  flower  that  springs 

By  fountain,  shaw,  or  green, 
There's  not  a  bonnie  bird  that  sings 

But  minds  me  o'  my  Jean. 

O  blaw  ye  westlin  winds,  blaw  saft 
Amang  the  leafy  trees; 
27 


Wi'  balmy  gale,  frae  hill  and  dale 

Bring  hame  the  laden  bees; 
And  bring  the  lassie  back  to  me 

That's  aye  sae  neat  and  clean; 
Ae  smile  o'  her  wad  banish  care, 

Sae  charming  is  my  Jean. 

What  sighs  and  vows  amang  the  knowes 

Hae  pass'd  atween  us  twa ! 
How  fond  to  meet,  how  wae  to  part 

That  night  she  gaed  awa! 
The  Powers  aboon  can  only  ken 

To  whom  the  heart  is  seen, 
That  nane  can  be  sae  dear  to  me 

As  my  sweet  lovely  Jean ! 


A  LOST  LOVE 

BY   H.    F.    LYTE 

I  MEET  thy  pensive,  moonlight  face; 

Thy  thrilling  voice  I  hear; 
And  former  hours  and  scenes  retrace, 

Too  fleeting,  and  too  dear! 

Then  sighs  and  tears  flow  fast  and  free, 

Though  none  is  nigh  to  share; 
And  life  has  nought  beside  for  me 

So  sweet  as  this  despair. 

There  are  crush'd  hearts  that  will  not  break; 

And  mine,  methinks,  is  one; 
Or  thus  I  should  not  weep  and  wake, 

And  thou  to  slumber  gone. 

I  little  thought  it  thus  could  be 

In  days  more  sad  and  fair — 
That  earth  could  have  a  place  for  me, 

And  thou  no  longer  there. 
29 


Yet  death  cannot  our  hearts  divide, 

Or  make  thee  less  my  own : 
'Twere  sweeter  sleeping  at  thy  side 

Than  watching  here  alone. 

Yet  never,  never  can  we  part, 

While  Memory  holds  her  reign: 

Thine,  thine  is  still  this  wither'd  heart, 
Till  we  shall  meet  again. 

TO  A  YOUNG  LADY 

BY  W.  COWPER 

SWEET  stream,   that  winds  through  yonder 

glade, 

Apt  emblem  of  a  virtuous  maid — 
Silent  and  chaste  she  steals  along, 
Far  from  the  world's  gay  busy  throng: 
With  gentle  yet  prevailing  force, 
Intent  upon  her  destined  course; 
Graceful  and  useful  all  she  does. 
Blessing  and  blest  where'er  she  goes; 
Pure-bosom'd  as  that  watery  glass 
And  Heaven  reflected  in  her  face. 
30 


A  RED,  RED  ROSE 

BY  ROBERT    BURNS 

OH,  my  luve's  like  a  red,  red  rose, 
That's  newly  sprung  in  June: 

Oh,  my  luve's  like  the  melodic 
That's  sweetly  played  in  tune. 

As  fair  art  thou,  my  bonnie  lass, 

So  deep  in  luve  am  I; 
And  I  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear, 

Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry. 

Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry,  my  dear, 
And  the  rocks  melt  wi'  the  sun, 

I  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear, 
While  the  sands  o'  life  shall  run. 

And  fare  thee  weel,  my  only  luve! 

And  fare  thee  weel  awhile! 
And  I  will  come  again,  my  luve, 

Though  it  were  ten  thousand  mile. 


TO  MARY 

BY  C.   WOLFE 

IF  I  had  thought  thou  couldst  have  died, 

I  might  not  weep  for  thee; 
But  I  forgot,  when  by  thy  side, 

That  thou  couldst  mortal  be: 
It  never  through  my  mind  had  past 

The  time  would  e'er  be  o'er, 
And  I  on  thee  should  look  my  last, 

And  thou  shouldst  smile  no  more! 

And  still  upon  that  face  I  look, 

And  think  'twill  smile  again; 
And  still  the  thought  I  will  not  brook 

That  I  must  look  in  vain! 
But  when  I  speak — thou  dost  not  say 

What  thou  ne'er  left'st  unsaid; 
And  now  I  feel,  as  well  I  may, 

Sweet  Mary!  thou  art  dead! 

If  thou  wouldst  stay,  e'en  as  thou  art, 
All  cold  and  all  serene — 

32 


I  still  might  press  thy  silent  heart, 
And  where  thy  smiles  have  been. 

While  e'en  thy  chill,  bleak  corse  I  have, 
Thou  seemest  still  mine  own; 

But  there  I  lay  thee  in  thy  grave — 
And  I  am  now  alone! 

I  do  not  think,  where'er  thou  art, 

Thou  hast  forgotten  me; 
And  I,  perhaps,  may  soothe  this  heart, 

In  thinking  too  of  thee : 
Yet  there  was  round  thee  such  a  dawn 

Of  light  ne'er  seen  before, 
As  fancy  never  could  have  drawn, 

And  never  can  restore! 


33 


PARTING 

BY  GERALD   MASSEY 

Too  fair,  I  may  not  call  thee  mine: 

Too  dear,  I  may  not  see 
Those  eyes  with  bridal  beacons  shine; 

Yet,  Darling,  keep  for  me — 
Empty  and  hush'd,  and  safe  apart, 
One  little  corner  of  thy  heart. 

Thou  wilt  be  happy,  dear!  and  bless 
Thee:  happy  mayst  thou  be. 

I  would  not  make  thy  pleasure  less; 
Yet,  Darling,  keep  for  me — 

My  life  to  light,  my  lot  to  leaven, 

One  little  corner  of  thy  Heaven. 

Good-bye,  dear  heart!  I  go  to  dwell 

A  weary  way  from  thee; 
Our  first  kiss  is  our  last  farewell; 

Yet,  Darling,  keep  for  me — 
Who  wander  outside  in  the  night, 
One  little  corner  o 


THE  SLEEPING  BEAUTY 


BY   SAMUEL   ROGERS 

SLEEP  on,  and  dream  of  Heaven  awhile — 
Tho'  shut  so  close  thy  laughing  eyes, 

Thy  rosy  lips  still  wear  a  smile 

And  move,  and  breathe  delicious  sighs! 

Ah,  now  soft  blushes  tinge  her  cheeks 
And  mantle  o'er  her  neck  of  snow: 

Ah,  now  she  murmurs,  now  she  speaks 
What  most  I  wish — and  fear  to  know! 

She  starts,  she  trembles,  and  she  weeps! 

Her  fair  hands   folded  on  her  breast: — 
And  now,  how  like  a  saint  she  sleeps! 

A  seraph  in  the  realms  of  rest ! 

Sleep  on  secure !     Above  control 

Thy  thoughts  belong  to  Heaven  and  thee: 
And  may  the  secret  of  thy  soul 

Remain  within  its  sanctuary  I 


SALLY  IN  OUR  ALLEY 

BY   HENRY   CAREY 

OF  all  the  girls  that  are  so  smart 

There's  none  like  pretty  Sally; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 
There  is  no  lady  in  the  land 

Is  half  so  sweet  as  Sally; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

Her  father  he  makes  cabbage-nets 

And  through  the  streets  does  cry  'em; 
Her  mother  she  sells  laces  long 

To  such  as  please  to  buy  'em: 
But  sure  such  folks  could  ne'er  beget 

So  sweet  a  girl  as  Sally! 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

When  she  is  by,  I  leave  my  work, 
I  love  her  so  sincerely; 
36 


My  master  comes  like  any  Turk, 
And  bangs  me  most  severely — 

But  let  him  bang  his  bellyful, 
I'll  bear  it  all  for  Sally; 

She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 
And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

Of  all  the  days  that's  in  the  week 

I  dearly  love  but  one  day — 
And  that's  the  day  that  comes  betwixt 

A  Saturday  and  Monday; 
For  then  I'm  drest  all  in  my  best 

To  walk  abroad  with  Sally; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  she  lives  in  our  alley. 


THE  TIME  I'VE  LOST  IN  WOOING 

BY  THOMAS   MOORE 

THE  time  I've  lost  in  wooing, 

In  watching  and  pursuing 
The  light  that  lies 

In  woman's  eyes, 
Has  been  my  heart's  undoing. 

Tho'  Wisdom  oft  has  sought  me, 
I  scorned  the  lore  she  brought  me, 

My  only  books 
Were  woman's  looks, 

And  folly's  all  they've  taught  me. 

Her  smile  when  beauty  granted, 
I  hung  with  gaze  enchanted, 

Like  him,  the  sprite 

Whom  maids  by  night 
Oft  meet  in  glen  that's  haunted. 

won  n 


The  Light  That  Lies  in 
Woman's  Eyes 


.•*- 

V 


•f 


And  are  these  follies  going? 
And  is  my  proud  heart  growing 

Too  cold  or  wise 

For  brilliant  eyes 
Again  to  set  it  glowing? 
No — vain  alas!  th'  endeavor 
From  bonds  so  sweet  to  sever; 

Poor  Wisdom's  chance 

Against  a  glance 
Is  now  as  weak  as  ever. 


ABSENCE 

WHEN  I  think  on  the  happy  days 
I  spent  wi'  you,  my  dearie; 

And  now  what  lands  between  us  lie, 
How  can  I  be  but  eerie! 

How  slow  ye  move,  ye  heavy  hours, 
As  ye  were  wae  and  weary! 

It  was  na  sae  ye  glinted  by 
When  I  was  wi'  my  dearie. 

39 


BELIEVE   ME,   IF   ALL  THOSE   EN- 
DEARING YOUNG  CHARMS 

BY   THOMAS   MOORE 

BELIEVE  me,   if  all  those  endearing  young 

charms, 

Which  I  gaze  on  so  fondly  to-day, 
Were  to  change  by  to-morrow,  and  fleet  in 

my  arms, 

Like  fairy-gifts  fading  away, 
Thou   wouldst  still   be   adored,   as  this  mo- 
ment thou  art, 

Let  thy  loveliness  fade  as  it  will, 
And  around  the  dear  ruin  each  wish  of  my 

heart 
Would  entwine  itself  verdantly  still. 

It  is  not  while  beauty  and  youth  are  thine 

own, 

And  thy  cheeks  unprofaned  by  a  tear, 
That  the  fervor  and  faith  of  a  soul  can  be 

known, 

To  which  time  will  but  make  thee  more 
dear; 

40 


No,   the   heart   that  has   truly   loved   never 

forgets, 

But  as  truly  loves  on  to  the  close, 
As  the  sun-flower  turns  on  her  god,  when  he 

sets, 

The  same  look  which  she  turned  when  he 
rose. 


DU  BIST  WIE  EINE  BLUME 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  HEINE 

E'EN  as  a  lovely  flower 
So  fair,  so  pure  thou  art; 

I  gaze  on  thee,  and  sadness 
Comes  stealing  o'er  my  heart. 

My  hands  I  fain  had  folded 
Upon  thy  soft  brown  hair, 

Praying  that  God  may  keep  thee 
So  lovely,  pure,  and  fair. 


THE  KISS,  DEAR  MAID 

BY   LORD   BYRON 

THE  kiss,  dear  maid,  thy  lip  has  left, 

Shall  never  part  from  mine, 
Till  happier  hours  restore  the  gift, 

Untainted  back  to  thine. 
The  parting  glance  that  fondly  beams, 

An  equal  love  may  see; 
The  tear  that  from  thine  eyelid  streams, 

Can  weep  no  change  in  me. 

I  ask  no  pledge  to  make  me  blest, 

In  gazing  when  alone, 
Nor  one  memorial  for  a  breast 

Whose  thoughts  are  all  thine  own. 
n  weal  or  woe, 


HIGHLAND  MARY 

BY    ROBERT    BURNS 

YE  banks  and  braes  and  streams  around 

The  castle  o'  Montgomery, 
Green  be  your  woods,  and  fair  your  flowers, 

Your  waters  never  drumlie! 
There  simmer  first  unfauld  her  robes, 

And  there  the  langest  tarry; 
For  there  I  took  the  last  fareweel 

O'  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

How  sweetly  bloom'd  the  gay  green  birk, 

How  rich  the  hawthorn's  blossom, 
As  underneath  their  fragrant  shade 

I  clasp'd  her  to  my  bosom ! 
The  golden  hours  on  angel  wings 

Flew  o'er  me  and  my  dearie; 
For  dear  to  me  as  light  and  life 

Was  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

Wi'  mony  a  vow  and  lock'd  embrace 
Our  parting  was  fu'  tender; 

43 


And  pledging  aft  to  meet  again, 

We  tore  ourselves  asunder; 
But,  O !  fell  Death's  untimely  frost, 

That  nipt  my  flower  sae  early! 
Now  green's  the  sod,  and  cauld's  the  clay, 

That  wraps  my  Highland  Mary! 

O  pale,  pale  now,  those  rosy  lips, 

I  aft  hae  kiss'd  sae  fondly ! 
And  closed  for  aye  the  sparkling  glance 

That  dwelt  on  me  sae  kindly; 
And  mouldering  now  in  silent  dust 

The  heart  that  lo'ed  me  dearly! 
But  still  within  my  bosom's  core 

Shall  live  my  Highland  Mary. 


SHE  WALKS  IN  BEAUTY 

BY   LORD   BYRON 

SHE  walks  in  beauty,  like  the  night 
Of  cloudless  climes  and  starry  skies, 
And  all  that's  best  of  dark  and  bright 
Meet  in  her  aspect  and  her  eyes; 
Thus  mellow'd  to  that  tender  light 
Which  heaven  to  gaudy  day  denies. 

One  shade  the  more,  one  ray  the  less, 
Had  half  impair'd  the  nameless  grace 
Which  waves  in  every  raven  tress 
Or  softly  lightens  o'er  her  face, 
Where  thoughts  serenely  sweet  express 
How  pure,  how  dear  their  dwelling-place. 

And  on  that  cheek  and  o'er  that  brow 
So  soft,  so  calm,  yet  eloquent, 
The  smiles  that  win,  the  tints  that  glow 
But  tell  of  days  in  goodness  spent, — 
A  mind  at  peace  with  all  below, 
A  heart  whose  love  is  innocent. 


45 


WHEN  HE,  WHO  ADORES  THEE 

BY  THOMAS   MOORE 

WHEN  he,  who  adores  thee,  has  left  but  the 

name 

Of  his  fault  and  his  sorrows  behind, 
Oh,  say,  wilt  thou  weep,  when  they  darken 

the  fame 

Of  a  life  that  for  thee  was  resign'd? 
Yes,  weep,  and  however  my  foes  may  con- 
demn, 

Thy  tears  shall  efface  their  decree; 
For  Heaven   can  witness,   though   guilty  to 

them, 
I  have  been  but  too  faithful  to  thee. 

With  thee  were  the  dreams  of  my  earliest 

love; 

Every  thought  of  my  reason  was  thine; 
In    my    last    humble    prayer    to    the    Spirit 

above, 

Thy  name  shall  be  mingled  with  mine. 
46 


Oh!  blest  are  the  lovers  and  friends  who  shall 

live 

The  days  of  thy  glory  to  see; 
But  the  next  dearest  blessing  that  Heaven 

can  give 
Is  the  pride  of  thus  dying  for  thee. 


I  FEAR  THY  KISSES 

BY  PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY 

I  FEAR  thy  kisses,  gentle  maiden; 

Thou  need'st  not  fear  mine; 
My  spirit  is  too  deeply  laden 

Ever  to  burthen  thine. 

I  fear  thy  mien,  thy  tones,  thy  motion, 
Thou  need'st  not  fear  mine; 

Innocent  is  the  heart's  devotion 
With  which  I  worship  thine. 


47 


THE  LOVED  ONE  EVER  NEAR 

BY  GOETHE    (TRANSLATED  BY  J.  S.  DWIGHT) 

I  THINK  of  thee,  when  the  bright  sunlight 

shimmers 
Across  the  sea; 
When  the  clear  fountain  in  the  moonbeam 

glimmers, 
I  think  of  thee. 

I  see  thee,  if  far  up  the  pathway  yonder 

The  dust  be  stirred; 
If  faint  steps  o'er  the  little  bridge  to  wander 

At  night  be  heard. 

I   hear  thee,   when  the   tossing  waves'  low 
rumbling 

Creeps  up  the  hill; 
I  go  to  the  lone  wood  and  listen,  trembling, 

When  all  is  still. 

I  am  with  thee,  wherever  thou  art  roaming, — 

And  thou  art  near! 

The  sun  goes  down,  and  soon  the  stars  are 
coming; 

Would  thou  wert  here  I 


OH!  SAY  NOT  WOMAN'S  HEART  IS 
BOUGHT 

BY  THOMAS   LOVE   PEACOCK 

OH  !  say  not  woman's  heart  is  bought 

With  vain  and  empty  treasure; 
Oh !  say  not  woman's  heart  is  caught 

By  every  idle  pleasure. 
When  first  her  gentle  bosom  knows 

Love's   flame,   it  wanders  never; 
Deep  in  her  heart  the  passion  glows, — 

She  loves,  and  loves  for  ever. 

Oh!  say  not  woman's  false  as  fair, 

That  like  the  bee  she  ranges; 
Still  seeking  flowers  more  sweet  and  rare, 

As  fickle  fancy  changes. 
Ah,  no !  the  love  that  first  can  warm 

Will  leave  her  bosom  never; 
No  second  passion  e'er  can  charm, — 

She  loves,  and  loves  for  ever. 


49 


ONE  WAY  OF  LOVE 

BY  ROBERT  BROWNING 

ALL  June  I  bound  the  rose  in  sheaves. 
Now,  rose  by  rose,  I  strip  the  leaves 
And  strow  them  where  Pauline  may  pass. 
She  will  not  turn  aside?     Alas! 
Let  them  lie.     Suppose  they  die? 
The  chance  was  they  might  take  her  eye. 

How  many  a  month  I  strove  to  suit 
These  stubborn  fingers  to  the  lute! 
To-day  I  venture  all  I  know. 
She  will  not  hear  my  music?     So! 
Break  the  string;  fold  music's  wing: 
Suppose  Pauline  had  bade  me  sing! 

My  whole  life  long  I  learn'd  to  love. 

This  hour  my  utmost  art  I  prove 

And  speak  my  passion — heaven  or  hell? 

She   will  not  give  me  heaven?     'Tis   well! 

Lose  who  may — I  still  can  say, 

Those  who  win  heaven,  bless'd  are  they! 


This  Hour  My  Utmost 
Art  I  Prove 


=*R 


WHEN  THOU  ART  NIGH 

BY  THOMAS   MOORE 

WHEN  thou  art  nigh,  it  seems 

A  new  creation  round; 
The  sun  hath  fairer  beams, 

The  lute  a  softer  sound. 
Though  thee  alone  I  see, 

And  hear  alone  thy  sigh, 
'Tis  light,  'tis  song  to  me, 

'Tis  all — when  thou  art  nigh. 

When  thou  art  nigh,  no  thought 

Of  grief  comes  o'er  my  heart; 
I  only  think — could  aught 

But  joy  be  where  thou  art? 
Life  seems  a  waste  of  breath 

When  far  from  thee  I  sigh; 
And  death — ay,  even  death 

Were  sweet,  if  thou  wert  nigh. 


ON  A  GIRDLE 

BY  EDMUND  WALLER 

THAT  which  her  slender  waist  confined 
Shall  now  my  joyful  temples  bind; 
No  monarch  but  would  give  his  crown, 
His  arms  might  do  what  this  has  done. 

It  was  my  heaven's  extremest  sphere, 
The  pale  which  held  that  lovely  deer: 
My  joy,  my  grief,  my  hope,  my  love, 
Did  all  within  this  circle  move. 

A  narrow  compass !  and  yet  there 
Dwelt  all  that's  good,  and  all  that's  fair. 
Give  me  but  what  this  riband  bound, 
Take  all  the  rest  the  sun  goes  round ! 


SERENADE 

BY  THOMAS   HOOD 

AH,  sweet !  thou  little  knowest  how 

I  wake,  and  passionate  watches  keep. 
And  yet  while  I  address  thee  now, 

Methinks  thou  smilest  in  thy  sleep. 
'Tis  sweet  enough  to  make  me  weep, 

That  tender  thought  of  love  and  thee, 
That  while  the  world  is  hushed  so  deep 

Thy  soul's  perhaps  awake  to  me. 

Sleep  on,  sleep  on,  sweet  bride  of  sleep, 

With  golden  visions  for  thy  dower. 
While  I  this  midnight  vigil  keep, 

And  bless  thee  in  thy  silent  bower; 
To  me  'tis  sweeter  than  the  power 

Of  sleep,  and  fairy  dreams  unfurled, 
That  I  alone,  at  this  still  hour, 

In  patient  love  outwatch  the  world. 


53 


TO  THE  END 

BY    C.    G.    ROSSETTI 

I  WONDER  if  the  Angels 

Love  with  such  love  as  ours, 
If  for  each  other's  sake  they  pluck 

And  keep  eternal  flowers. 

Alone  I  am  and  weary, 

Alone  yet  not  alone : 
Her  soul  talks  with  me  by  the  way 

From  tedious  stone  to  stone, 
A  blessed  Angel  treads  with  me 

The  awful  paths  unknown. 

If  her  spirit  went  before  me 

Up  from  night  to  day, 
It  would  pass  me  like  the  lightning 

That  kindles  on  its  way. 
I  should  feel  it  like  the  lightning 

Flashing  fresh  from  Heaven: 
I  should  long  for  Heaven  sevenfold  more, 

Yea  and  sevenfold  seven: 
Should  pray  as  I  have  not  pray'd  before, 

And  strive  as  I  have  not  striven. 

She  will  learn  new  love  in  Heaven, 
Who  is  so  full  of  love; 

54 


She  will  learn  new  depths  of  tenderness 

Who  is  tender  like  a  dove. 

Her  heart  will  no  more  sorrow, 

Her  eyes  will  weep  no  more : 
Yet  it  may  be  she  will  yearn 
And  look  back  from  far  before: 
Lingering  on  the  golden  threshold 

And  leaning  from  the  door. 

IF  SHE  BUT  KNEW 

BY  ARTHUR  o'SHAUGHNESSY 

IF  she  but  knew  that  I  am  weeping 

Still  for  her  sake, 
That  love  and  sorrow  grow  with  keeping 

Till  they  must  break, 
My  heart  that  breaking  will  adore  her, 
If  she  might  hear  me  once  implore  her, 

Would  she  not  sigh? 

If  she  but  knew  that  it  would  save  me 

Her  voice  to  hear, 
Saying  she  pitied  me,  forgave  me, 

Must  she  forbear? 
If  she  were  told  that  I  was  dying, 

Would  she  be  dumb? 
Could  she  content  herself  with  sighing? 

Would  she  not  come? 

55 


MINE 


BY  DINAH   MULOCH   CRAIK 

O  HOW  my  heart  is  beating  as  her  name  I 

keep  repeating, 
And  I  drink  in  joy  like  wine; 
O  how  my  heart  is  beating  as  her  name  I 

keep  repeating, 
For  the  lovely  girl  is  mine! 
She's  rich,  she's  fair,  beyond  compare, 
Of  noble  mind,  serene  and  kind, — 
And  how  my  heart  is  beating  as  her  name  I 

keep  repeating, 
For  the  lovely  girl  is  mine! 

O  how  my  heart  is  beating  as  her  name  I 

keep  repeating, 
In  a  music  soft  and  fine; 
O  how  my  heart  is  beating  as  her  name  I 

keep  repeating, 
For  the  girl  I  love  is  mine. 
56 


She  owns  no  lands,  has  no  white  hands, 
Her  lot  is  poor,  her  life  obscure; — 

Yet  how  my  heart  is  beating  as  her  name  I 

keep  repeating, 
For  the  girl  I  love  is  minel 


HAPPY  LOVE 

BY  CHARLES  MACKAY 

SINCE  the  sweet  knowledge  I  possess 

That  she  I  love  is  mine, 
All  nature  throbs  with  happiness, 

And  wears  a  face  divine. 
The  woods  seem  greener  than  they  were, 

The  skies  are  brighter  blue; 
The  stars  shine  clearer,  and  the  air 

Lets  finer  sunlight  through. 
Until  I  loved,  I  was  a  child, 

And  sported  on  the  sands; 
But  now  the  ocean  opens  out, 

With  all  its  happy  lands. 
57 


TO  ONE  IN  PARADISE 

BY  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 

THOU  wast  all  that  to  me,  love, 

For  which  my  soul  did  pine: 
A  green  isle  in  the  sea,  love, 

A  fountain  and  a  shrine 
All  wreathed  with  fairy  fruits  and  flowers, 

And  all  the  flowers  were  mine. 

Ah,  dream  too  bright  to  last ! 

Ah,  starry  Hope,  that  didst  arise 
But  to  be  overcast! 

A  voice  from  out  the  Future  cries, 
"On!  on!"— but  o'er  the  Past 

(Dim  gulf!)   my  spirit  hovering  lies 
Mute,  motionless,  aghast. 

For,  alas !  alas !  with  me 

The  light  of  Life  is  o'er! 

No  more — no  more — no  more — 
(Such  language  holds  the  solemn  sea 

To  the  sands  upon  the  shore) 


Shall  bloom  the  thunder-blasted  tree, 
Or  the  stricken  eagle  soar. 

And  all  my  days  are  trances, 
And  all  my  nightly  dreams 

Are  where  thy  gray  eye  glances, 
And  where  thy  footstep  gleams — 

In  what  ethereal  dances, 
By  what  eternal  streams. 


59 


MAUD 


BY  ALFRED,    LORD  TENNYSON 

BIRDS  in  the  high  Hall-garden 
When  twilight  was  falling, 

Maud,  Maud,  Maud,  Maud, 
They  were  crying  and  calling. 

Where  was  Maud?  in  our  wood; 

And  I,  who  else,  was  with  her, 
Gathering  woodland  lilies, 

Myriads  blow  together. 

Birds  in  our  wood  sang 
Ringing  thro'  the  valleys, 

Maud  is  here,  here,  here 
In  among  the  lilies. 

I  kiss'd  her  slender  hand, 
She  took  the  kiss  sedately; 

Maud  is  not  seventeen, 
But  she  is  tall  and  stately. 
60 


Maud  Is  Not  Seventeen 


«ct 


ir!»ty,  |<|io . 


I  to  cry  out  on  pride 

Who  have  won  her  favor! 

0  Maud  were  sure  of  Heaven 
If  lowliness  could  save  her. 

1  know  the  way  she  went 

Home  with  her  maiden  posy, 
For  her  feet  have  touch'd  the  meadows 
And  left  the  daisies  rosy. 

Birds  in  the  high  Hall-garden 
Were  crying  and  calling  to  her, 

Where  is  Maud,  Maud,  Maud? 
One  is  come  to  woo  her. 

Look,  a  horse  at  the  door, 

And  little  King  Charley  snarling: 
— Go  back,  my  lord,  across  the  moor, 

You  are  not  her  darling. 


61 


SO  SWEET  LOVE  SEEM'D 

So  sweet  love  seem'd  that  April  morn, 
When  first  we  kiss'd  beside  the  thorn, 
So  strangely  sweet,  it  was  not  strange 
We  thought  that  love  could  never  change. 

But  I  can  tell — let  truth  be  told — 
That  love  will  change  in  growing  old; 
Though  day  by  day  is  nought  to  see, 
So  delicate  his  motions  be. 

And  in  the  end  'twill  come  to  pass, 
Quite  to  forget  what  once  he  was, 
Nor  even  in  fancy  to  recall 
The  pleasure  that  was  all  in  all. 

His  little  spring,  that  sweet  we  found, 
So  deep  in  summer  floods  is  drown'd, 
I  wonder,  bath'd  in  joy  complete, 
How  love  so  young  could  be  so  sweet. 


IN  A  GONDOLA 


BY   ROBERT   BROWNING 


THE  moth's  kiss,  first! 

Kiss  me  as  if  you  made  believe 
You  were  not  sure,  this  eve, 

How  my  face,  your  flower,  had  pursed 
Its  petals  up;  so,  here  and  there 
You  brush  it,  till  I  grow  aware 

Who  wants  me,  and  wide  ope  I  burst. 


II 

The  bee's  kiss,  now! 

Kiss  me  as  if  you  entered  gay 
My  heart  at  some  noonday, 

A  bud  that  dares  not  disallow 
The  claim,  so  all  is  rendered  up, 
And  passively  its  shattered  cup 

Over  your  head  to  sleep  I  bow. 


ANNIE  LAURIE 

MAXWELTON  braes  are  bonnie 

Where  early  fa's  the  dew, 
And  it's  there  that  Annie  Laurie 

Gie'd  me  her  promise  true, — 
Gie'd  me  her  promise  true, 

Which  ne'er  forgot  will  be, 
And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 

I'd  lay  me  doune  and  dee. 

Her  brow  is  like  the  snaw  drift; 

Her  throat  is  like  the  swan; 
Her  face  it  is  the  fairest 

That  e'er  the  sun  shone  on, — 
That  e'er  the  sun  shone  on, 

And  dark  blue  is  her  ee; 
And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 

I'd  lay  me  doune  and  dee. 

Like  dew  on  the  gowan  lying 
Is  the  fa'  o'  her  fairy  feet; 

And  like  the  winds  in  summer  sighing 
Her  voice  is  low  and  sweet, — 
64 


Her  voice  is  low  and  sweet; 

And  she's  a'  the  world  to  me; 
And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 

I'd  lay  me  doune  and  dee. 


WHAT  SHALL  I  DO  FOR  MY 
LOVE? 

BY  LEWIS  MORRIS 

WHAT  shall  I  do  for  my  love, 

Who  is  so  tender 

And  dear  and  true, 

Loving  and  true  and  tender, 

My  strength  and  my  defender — 

What  shall  I  do? 

I  will  cleave  unto  my  love, 

Who  am  too  lowly 

For  him  to  take. 

With  a  self-surrender  holy 

I  will  cleave  unto  him  solely, 

I  will  give  my  being  wholly 

For  his  dear  sake. 

65 


WHEN  STARS  ARE  IN  THE  QUIET 
SKIES 

BY   EDWARD,    LORD   LYTTON 

WHEN  stars  are  in  the  quiet  skies, 

Then  most  I  pine  for  thee; 
Bend  on  me  then  thy  tender  eyes, 

As  stars  look  on  the  sea ! 
For  thoughts,  like  waves  that  glide  by  night, 

Are  stillest  when  they  shine; 
Mine  earthly  love  lies  hush'd  in  light 

Beneath  the  heaven  of  thine. 


There  is  an  hour  when  angels  keep 

Familiar  watch  o'er  men, 
When  coarser  souls  are  wrapp'd  in  sleep — 

Sweet  spirit,  meet  me  then ! 
There  is  an  hour  when  holy  dreams 

Through  slumber  fairest  glide; 
And  in  that  mystic  hour  it  seems 

Thou  shouldst  b 


My  thoughts  of  thee  too  sacred  are 

For  daylight's  common  beam: 
I  can  but  know  thee  as  my  star, 

My  angel  and  my  dream; 
When  stars  are  in  the  quiet  skies, 

Then  most  I  pine  for  thee; 
Bend  on  me  then  thy  tender  eyes, 

As  stars  look  on  the  sea! 


THE  LOST  MISTRESS 

BY   ROBERT  BROWNING 

ALL'S  over,  then:  does  truth  sound  bitter 

As  one  at  first  believes? 
Hark,   'tis  the  sparrows'  good-night,  twitter 

About  your  cottage  eaves ! 

And  the  leaf-buds  on  the  vine  are  woolly, 

I  noticed  that,  to-day; 
One  day  more  bursts  them  open  fully 

— You  know  the  red  turns  gray. 

To-morrow  we  meet  the  same  then,  dearest? 

May  I  take  your  hand  in  mine? 
Mere    friends    are    we, — well,    friends    the 
merest 

Keep  much  that  I  resign : 

For  each  glance  of  the  eye  so  bright  and 

black, 

Though  I  keep  with  heart's  endeavor, — 
Your  voice,  when  you  wish  the  snowdrops 


Yet  I  will  but  say  what  mere  friends  say, 

Or  only  a  thought  stronger; 
I  will  hold  your  hand  but  as  long  as  all  may, 

Or  so  very  little  longer! 


IS  IT  GOOD-BYE? 


BY   WILLIAM   ERNEST   HENLEY 

A  WINK  from  Hesper  falling 

Fast  in  the  wintry  sky 
Comes  through  the  even  blue, 
Dear,  like  a  word  from  you. 

Is  it  good-bye? 

Across  the  miles  between  us, 

I  send  you  sigh  for  sigh. 
Good  night,  sweet  friend,  good  night; 
Till  life  and  all  take  flight, 

Never  good-bye. 


SOMEWHERE  OR  OTHER 


BY  C.   G.   ROSSETTI 

SOMEWHERE  or  other  there  must  surely  be 

The  face  not  seen,  the  voice  not  heard; 
The  heart  that  not  yet — never  yet — ah  me! 
Made  answer  to  my  word. 

Somewhere  or  other,  may  be  near  or  far; 

Past  land  and  sea,  clean  out  of  sight; 
Beyond  the  wandering  moon,  beyond  the  star 
That  tracks  her  night  by  night. 

Somewhere  or  other,  may  be   far  or  near; 

With  just  a  wall,  a  hedge,  between; 
With  just  the  last  leaves  of  the  dying  year 
Fallen  on  a  turf  grown  green. 


iv 


ASK  ME  NO  MORE 

BY   ALFRED,    LORD   TENNYSON 

ASK  me  no  more:  the  moon  may  draw  the 

sea; 
The  cloud  may  stoop   from   heaven   and 

take  the  shape, 

With  fold  to  fold,  of  mountain  or  of  cape  ; 
But  O  too  fond,  when  have  I  answer'd  thee? 
Ask  me  no  more. 

Ask  me  no  more :  what  answer  should  I  give  ? 
I  love  not  hollow  cheek  or  faded  eye: 
Yet,  O  my  friend,  I  will  not  have  thee  die ! 

Ask  me  no  more,  lest  I  should  bid  thee  live; 
Ask  me  no  more. 

Ask  me  no  more :  thy  fate  and  mine  are  seal'd : 
I  strove  against  the  stream  and  all  in  vain : 
Let  the  great  river  take  me  to  the  main: 

No  more,  dear  love,  for  at  a  touch  I  yield; 
Ask  me  no  more. 


I  WILL  NOT  LET  THEE  GO 

BY  ROBERT   BRIDGES 

I  WILL  not  let  thee  go. 
Ends  all  our  month-long  love  in  this? 
Can  it  be  summ'd  up  so, 
Quit  in  a  single  kiss? 
I  will  not  let  thee  go. 

I  will  not  let  thee  go. 
If  thy  words'  breath  could  scare  thy  deeds, 
As  the  soft  south  can  blow 
And  toss  the  feather'd  seeds, 
Then  might  I  let  thee  go. 

I  will  not  let  thee  go. 
Had  not  the  great  sun  seen,  I  might; 
Or  were  he  reckon'd  slow 
To  bring  the  false  to  light, 
Then  might  I  let  thee  go. 


I  will  not  let  thee  go. 
The  stars  that  crowd  the  summer  skies 


I  Will  Not  Let  Thee  Go 


Have  watch'd  us  so  below 
With  all  their  million  eyes, 
I  dare  not  let  thee  go. 

I  will  not  let  thee  go. 
Have  we  not  chid  the  changeful  moon, 
Now  rising  late,  and  now 
Because  she  set  too  soon, 
And  shall  I  let  thee  go? 

I  will  not  let  thee  go. 
Have  not  the  young  flowers  been  content, 
Pluck'd  ere  their  buds  could  blow, 
To  seal  our  sacrament? 
I  cannot  let  thee  go. 

I  will  not  let  thee  go. 
I  hold  thee  by  too  many  bands: 
Thou  sayest  farewell,  and,  lol 
I  have  thee  by  the  hands, 
And  will  not  let  thee  go. 


73 


LOVESIGHT 

BY   D.  G.   ROSSETTI 

WHEN  do  I  see  thee  most,  beloved  one? 
When  in  the  light  the  spirits  of  mine  eyes 
Before  thy  face,  their  altar,  solemnize 

The  worship  of  that  Love  through  thee  made 
known  ? 

Or  when  in  the  dusk  hours  (we  two  alone), 
Close-kiss'd  and  eloquent  of  still  replies 
Thy    twilight-hidden    glimmering    visage 
lies, 

And  my  soul  only  sees  thy  soul  its  own  ? 

O  love,  my  love!  if  I  no  more  should  see 
Thyself,  nor  on  the  earth  the  shadow  of  thee, 
Nor  image  of  thine  eyes  in  any  spring, — 
How  then  should  sound  upon  Life's  darken- 
ing slope 
The  ground-whirl  of  the  perish'd  leaves  of 

Hope, 
The  wind  of  Death's  imperishable  wing? 

74 


A  SERENADE 

BY    E.    C.    PINKNEY 

LOOK  out  upon  the  stars,  my  love, 

And  shame  them  with  thine  eyes, 
On  which,  than  on  the  lights  above, 

There  hang  more  destinies. 
Night's  beauty  is  the  harmony 

Of  blending  shades  and  light; 
Then,  lady,  up, — look  out,  and  be 

A  sister  to  the  night! 

Sleep  not! — thine  image  wakes  for  aye 

Within  my  watching  breast; 
Sleep  not ! — from  her  soft  sleep  should  fly, 

Who  robs  all  hearts  of  rest. 
Nay,  lady,  from  thy  slumbers  break, 

And  make  this  darkness  gay, 
With  looks  whose  brightness  well  might  make 

Of  darker  nights  a  day. 


75 


"  WHEN  OTHER  FRIENDS  ARE 
ROUND  THEE  " 


BY  GEORGE   P.   MORRIS 

WHEN  other  friends  are  round  thee, 

And  other  hearts  are  thine, 
When  other  bays  have  crown'd  thee, 

More  fresh  and  green  than  mine, 
Then  think  how  sad  and  lonely 

This  doating  heart  will  be, 
Which,  while  it  throbs,  throbs  only, 

Beloved  one,  for  thee ! 

Yet  do  not  think  I  doubt  thee, 

I  know  thy  truth  remains; 
I  would  not  live  without  thee, 

For  all  the  world  contains. 
Thou  art  the  star  that  guides  me 

Along  life's  changing  sea ; 
And  whate'er  fate  betides  me, 

This  heart  still  turns  to  thee. 


THE  BROOK-SIDE 
BY  R.  M.  (MILNES),  LORD  HOUGHTON 

I  WANDER'D  by  the  brook-side, 

I  wander'd  by  the  mill, — 
I  could  not  hear  the  brook  flow, 

The  noisy  wheel  was  still; 
There  was  no  burr  of  grasshopper, 

Nor  chirp  of  any  bird, 
But  the  beating  of  my  own  heart 

Was  all  the  sound  I  heard. 

I  sat  beneath  the  elm-tree, 

I  watch'd  the  long,  long  shade, 
And  as  it  grew  still  longer, 

I  did  not  feel  afraid; 
For  I  listen'd  for  a  footfall, 

I  listen'd  for  a  word, — 
But  the  beating  of  my  own  heart 

Was  all  the  sound  I  heard. 

He  came  not, — no,  he  came  not, — 
The  night  came  on  alone, — 
77 


The  little  stars  sat,  one  by  one, 
Each  on  his  golden  throne; 

The  evening  air  pass'd  by  my  cheek, 
The  leaves  above  were  stirr'd, — 

But  the  beating  of  my  own  heart 
Was  all  the  sound  1  heard. 

Fast  silent  tears  were  flowing, 

When  something  stood  behind, — 
A  hand  was  on  my  shoulder, 

I  knew  its  touch  was  kind: 
It  drew  me  nearer — -nearer, — 

We  did  not  speak  one  word, 
For  the  beating  of  our  own  hearts 

Was  all  the  sound  we  heard. 


OH,  FEAR  TO  CALL  IT  LOVING 

BY   ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING 

UNLESS  you  can  think,  when  the  song  is  done, 

No  other  is  soft  in  the  rhythm; 
Unless  you  can  feel,  when  left  by  One, 

That  all  men  else  go  with  him; 
Unless  you  can  know  when  unpraised  by  his 
breath 

That  your  beauty  itself  wants  proving; 
Unless     you     can     swear — "  For     life,     for 
death!" 

Oh,  fear  to  call  it  loving ! 

Unless  you  can  muse  in  a  crowd  all  day, 

On  the  absent  face  that  fixed  you; 
Unless  you  can  love,  as  the  angels  may, 

With  the  breadth  of  heaven  betwixt  you ; 
Unless  you  can  dream  that  his  faith  is  fast, 

Though  behooving  and  unbehooving; 
Unless  you  can  die  when  the  dream  is  past, — 

Oh,  never  call  it  loving! 

79 


LOVE  AT  SEA 

IMITATED   FROM  THEOPHILE   GAUTIER 

WE  are  in  love's  land  to-day; 

Where  shall  we  go? 
Love,  shall  we  start  or  stay, 

Or  sail  or  row? 
There's  many  a  wind  and  way, 
And  never  a  May  but  May; 
We  are  in  love's  land  to-day; 

Where  shall  we  go? 

Our  landwind  is  the  breath 
Of  sorrows  kiss'd  to  death 

And  joys  that  were; 
Our  ballast  is  a  rose ; 
Our  way  lies  where  God  knows 

And  love  knows  where. 

We  are  in  love's  hand  to-day- 

Our  seamen  are  fledged  Loves, 
Our  masts  are  bills  of  doves, 
Our  decks  fine  gold; 
80 


Love  at  Sea 


Our  ropes  are  dead  maids'  hair, 
Our  stores  are  love-shafts  fair 
And  manifold. 

We  are  in  love's  land  to-day- 

Where  shall  we  land  you,  sweet? 
On  fields  of  strange  men's  feet, 

Or  fields  near  home? 
Or  where  the  fire-flowers  blow, 
Or  where  the  flowers  of  snow 

Or  flowers  of  foam? 

We  are  in  love's  hand  to-day- 
Land  me,  she  says,  where  love 
Shows  but  one  shaft,  one  dove, 

One  heart,  one  hand, — 
A  shore  like  that,  my  dear, 
Lies  where  no  man  will  steer, 

No  maiden  land. 


81 


NIGHT  THOUGHTS 


BY   COVENTRY   PATMORE 

'Tis  sweeter  than  all  else  below, 

The  daylight  and  its  duties  done, 
To  fold  the  arms  for  rest,  and  so 

Relinquish  all  regards  but  one; 
To  see  her  features  in  the  dark; 

To  lie  and  meditate  once  more, 
Some  grace  he  did  not  fully  mark, 

Some  tone  he  had  not  heard  before; 
Then  from  beneath  his  head  to  take 

Her  notes,  her  picture,  and  her  glove, 
Put  there  for  joy  when  he  shall  wake, 

And  press  them  to  the  heart  of  love; 
And  then  to  whisper  "  Wife,"  and  pray 

To  live  so  long  as  not  to  miss 
That  unimaginable  day 

Which  farther  seems  the  nearer  'tis; 
And  still  from  joy's  unfathomed  well 

To  drink,  in  sleep,  while,  on  her  brow 
Of  innocence  ineffable, 

The  laughing  bridal  roses  blow. 
82 


LONGING 

BY   MATTHEW   ARNOLD 

COME  to  me  in  my  dreams,  and  then 
By  day  I  shall  be  well  again! 
For  then  the  night  will  more  than  pay 
The  hopeless  longing  of  the  day. 

Come,  as  thou  cam'st  a  thousand  times, 
A  messenger  from  radiant  climes, 
And  smile  on  thy  new  world,  and  be 
As  kind  to  others  as  to  me ! 

Or,  as  thou  never  cam'st  in  sooth, 
Come  now,  and  let  me  dream  it  truth; 
And  part  my  hair,  and  kiss  my  brow, 
And  say,  My  love!  why  suferest  thou? 

Come  to  me  in  my  dreams,  and  then 
By  day  I  shall  be  well  again! 
For  then  the  night  will  more  than  pay 
The  hopeless  longing  of  the  day. 


THE  MILLER'S  DAUGHTER 


BY  ALFRED,    LORD  TENNYSON 

IT  is  the  miller's  daughter, 

And  she  is  grown  so  dear,  so  dear, 
That  I  would  be  the  jewel 

That  trembles  in  her  ear; 
For  hid  in  ringlets  day  and  night, 
I'd  touch  her  neck  so  warm  and  white. 

And  I  would  be  the  girdle 

About  her  dainty,  dainty  waist, 

And  her  heart  would  beat  against  me, 
In  sorrow  and  in  rest; 

And  I  should  know  if  it  beat  right, 

I'd  clasp  it  round  so  close  and  tight. 

And  I  would  be  the  necklace, 
And  all  day  long  to  fall  and  rise 
bosom, 


SONG 

BY   ARTHUR   O'SHAUGHNESSY 

HAS  summer  come  without  the  rose, 

Or  left  the  bird  behind? 
Is  the  blue  changed  above  thee, 

O  world!  or  am  I  blind? 
Will  you  change  every  flower  that  grows, 

Or  only  change  this  spot, 
Where  she  who  said,  I  love  thee, 

Now  says,  I  love  thee  not? 

The  skies  seem'd  true  above  thee, 

The  rose  true  on  the  tree; 
The  birds  seem'd  true  the  summer  through, 

But  all  proved  false  to  me. 
World !  is  there  one  good  thing  in  you, 

Life,  love,  or  death — or  what? 
Since  lips  that  sang,  I  love  thee, 

Have  said,  I  love  thee  not? 

I  think  the  sun's  kiss  will  scarce  fall 
Into  one  flower's  gold  cup; 

85 


I  think  the  bird  will  miss  me, 

And  give  the  summer  up. 
O  sweet  place !  desolate  in  tall 

Wild  grass,  have  you  forgot 
How  her  lips  loved  to  kiss  me, 

Now 'that  they  kiss  me  not? 

Be  false  or  fair  above  me, 

Come  back  with  any  face, 
Summer!  do  I  care  what  you  do? 

You  cannot  change  one  place — 
The  grass,  the  leaves,  the  earth,  the  dew, 

The  grave  I  make  the  spot — 
Here,  where  she  used  to  love  me, 

Here,  where  she  loves  me  not. 


IN  THE  YEAR  THAT'S  COME  AND 
GONE 

BY  WILLIAM   ERNEST   HENLEY 

IN  the  year  that's  come  and  gone,  Love,  his 

flying  feather 
Stooping  slowly,  gave  us  heart,  and  bade  us 

walk  together. 
In  the  year  that's  coming  on,  though  many  a 

troth  be  broken, 
We  at  least  will  not  forget  aught  that  Love 

hath  spoken. 

In  the  year  that's  come  and  gone,  dear,  we 

wove  a  tether 
All  of  gracious  words  and  thoughts,  binding 

two  together. 
In  the  year  that's  coming  on,  with  its  wealth 

of  roses, 
We  shall  weave  it  stronger  yet,  ere  the  circle 

closes. 

8? 


In  the  year  that's  come  and  gone,  in  the 
golden  weather, 

Sweet,  my  sweet,  we  swore  to  keep  the  watch 
of  life  together. 

In  the  year  that's  coming  on,  rich  in  joy  and 
sorrow, 

We  shall  light  our  lamp,  and  wait  life's  mys- 
terious morrow. 

RONDEL 

BY  JOHN  PAYNE 

Kiss  me,  sweetheart;  the  Spring  is  here, 

And  Love  is  Lord  of  you  and  me. 

The  blue-bells  beckon  each  passing  bee; 
The  wildwood  laughs  to  the  flowered  year: 
There  is  no  bird  in  brake  or  brere, 

But  to  his  little  mate  sings  he, 
"  Kiss  me,  sweetheart ;  the  Spring  is  here, 

And  Love  is  Lord  of  you  and  me !  " 

The  blue  sky  laughs  out  sweet  and  clear, 
The  missel-thrush  upon  the  tree 
Pipes  for  sheer  gladness 

And  I  go  singing  to  my  d( 
sweetheart: 


A  LOVE  SYMPHONY 

BY  ARTHUR   O'SHAUGHNESSY 

ALONG  the  garden  ways  just  now 

I  heard  the  flowers  speak; 
The  white  rose  told  me  of  your  brow, 

The  red  rose  of  your  cheek; 
The  lily  of  your  bended  head, 

The  bindweed  of  your  hair: 
Each  look'd  its  loveliest  and  said 
You  were  more  fair. 

I  went  into  the  wood  anon, 
And  heard  the  wild  birds  sing 

How  sweet  you  were;  they  warbled  on, 
Piped,  trill'd  the  self-same  thing. 

Thrush,  blackbird,  linnet,  without  pause 
The  burden  did  repeat, 

And  still  began  again  because 
You  were  more  sweet. 

And  then  I  went  down  to  the  sea, 
And  heard  it  murmuring  too, 

Part  of  an  ancient  mystery, 
All  made  of  me  and  you: 
89 


h    * 


How  many  a  thousand  years  ago 
I  loved,  and  you  were  sweet — 

Longer  I  could  not  stay,  and  so 
I  fled  back  to  your  feet. 

IF  THOU  MUST  LOVE  ME 

BY  ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING 

IF  thou  must  love  me,  let  it  be  for  nought 
Except  for  love's  sake  only.     Do  not  say 
"  I  love  her  for  her  smile    .    .    .   her  look 

.    .    .    her  way 
Of  speaking  gently,   .    .    .    for   a   trick   of 

thought 
That   falls   in   well   with   mine,    and   certes 

brought 

A  sense  of  pleasant  ease  on  such  a  day  " — 
For  these  things  in  themselves,  Beloved,  may 
Be  changed,  or  change  for  thee, — and  love  so 

wrought 

May  be  unwrought  so.  Neither  love  me  for 
Thine  own  dear  pity's  wiping  my  cheeks  dry, 
Since  one  might  well  forget  to  weep  who  bore 
Thy  comfort  long,  and  lose  thy  love  thereby. 
But  love  me  for  love's  sake,  that  evermore 
Thou  may'st  love  on  through  love's  eternity. 


SONG 

BY   COSMO  MONKHOUSE 

WHO  calls  me  bold  because  I  won  my  love, 

And  did  not  pine, 
And  waste  my  life  with  secret  pain,  but  strove 

To  make  him  mine? 

I  us'd  no  arts ;  'twas  Nature's  self  that  taught 

My  eye  to  speak, 
And  bid  the  burning  blush  to  paint  unsought 

My  flushing  cheek; 

That  made  my  voice  to  tremble  when  I  bid 

My  love  "  Good-bye," 
So  weak  that  every  other  sound  was  hid, 

Except  a  sigh. 

Oh,  was  it  wrong  to  use  the  truth  I  knew, 

That  hearts  are  mov'd, 
And  spring  warm-struck  with  life  and  love 
anew, 

By  being  lov'd? 

91 


One  night  there  came  a  tear,  that,  big  and 

loth, 

Stole  'neath  my  brow. 
'Twas  thus  I  won  my  heart's  own  heart,  and 

both 
Are  happy  now. 


THE  NIGHT  HAS  A  THOUSAND 
EYES 


BY  FRANCIS  BOURDILLON 

THE  night  has  a  thousand  eyes, 

And  the  day  but  one; 
Yet  the  light  of  the  bright  world  dies 

With  the  dying  sun. 

The  mind  has  a  thousand  eyes, 

And  the  heart  but  one; 
Yet  the  light  of  a  whole  life  dies 

When  love  is  done. 


MY  DELIGHT  AND  THY  DELIGHT 

BY   ROBERT   BRIDGES 

MY  delight  and  thy  delight 
Walking,   like  two  angels  white, 
In  the  gardens  of  the  night: 

My  desire  and  thy  desire 
Twining  to  a  tongue  of  fire, 
Leaping   live,   and   laughing  higher; 

Thro'  the  everlasting  strife 
In  the  mystery  of  life. 

Love,  from  whom  the  world  begun, 
Hath  the  secret  of  the  sun. 

Love  can  tell,  and  love  alone, 
Whence  the  million  stars  were  strown, 
Why  each  atom  knows  its  own, 
How,  in  spite  of  woe  and  death, 
Gay  is  life,  and  sweet  is  breath: 

This  he  taught  us,  this  we  knew, 
Happy  in  his  science  true, 

93 


Hand  in  hand  as  we  stood 
'Neath  the  shadows  of  the  wood, 
Heart  to  heart  as  we  lay 
In  the  dawning  of  the  day. 

WILLOWWOOD 

BY  D.  G.  ROSSETTI 

I  SAT  with  Love  upon  a  woodside  well, 
Leaning  across  the  water,  I  and  he; 
Nor  ever  did  he  speak  nor  look'd  at  me, 

But  touch'd  his  lute,  wherein  was  audible 

The  certain  secret  thing  he  had  to  tell : 
Only  our  mirror'd  eyes  met  silently 
In  the  low  wave ;  and  that  sound  came  to  be 

The  passionate  voice  I  knew;  and  my  tears 
fell. 

And  at  their  fall,  his  eyes  beneath  grew  hers ; 

And  with  his  foot  and  with  his  wing-feathers 

He    swept    the    spring    that    water'd    my 

heart's  drouth. 

Then  the  dark  ripples  spread  to  waving  hair, 
And  as  I  stoop'd,  her  own  lips  rising  there 
Bubbled  with  brimming  kisses  at  my  mouth. 
94 


GERALDINE,  GERALDINE 

BY  WILLIAM   ERNEST    HENLEY 

WHY,  my  heart,  do  we  love  her  so? 

(Geraldine,   Geraldine!) 
Why  does  the  great  sea  ebb  and  flow? — 

Why  does  the  round  world  spin? 
Geraldine,  Geraldine, 

Bid  me  my  life  renew, 
What  is  it  worth  unless  I  win 

Love — love  and  you  ? 

Why,  my  heart,  when  we  speak  her  name 

(Geraldine,   Geraldine!) 
Throbs  the  word  like  a  flinging  flame? — 

Why  does  the  spring  begin? 
Geraldine,  Geraldine, 

Bid  me  indeed  to  be, 
Open  your  heart  and  take  us  in, 

Love — love  and  me. 


95 


NEVER  THE  TIME  AND  THE 
PLACE 

BY  ROBERT  BROWNING 

NEVER  the  time  and  the  place 

And  the  loved  one  all  together! 
This  path — how  soft  to  pace ! 

This  May — what  magic  weather! 
Where  is  the  loved  one's  face? 
In  a  dream  that  loved  one's  face  meets  mine, 
But  the  house  is  narrow,  the  place  is  bleak 
Where,  outside,  rain  and  wind  combine 
With  a  furtive  ear,  if  I  strive  to  speak, 
With  a  hostile  eye  at  my  flushing  cheek, 
With  a  malice  that  marks  each  word,  each 

sign ! 
O  enemy  sly  and  serpentine, 

Uncoil  thee  from  the  waking  man! 
Do  I  hold  the  Past 
Thus  firm  and  fast 
Yet  doubt  if  the  Future  hold  I  can? 
This  path  so  soft  to  pace  shall  lead 
Thro'  the  magic  of  May  to  herself  indeed ! 
Or  narrow  if  needs  the  house  must  be, 
Outside  are  the  storms  and  strangers ;  we — 
Oh,  close,  safe,  warm  sleep  I  and  she, 


— I  and  she! 


96 


The  Loved  One's  Face 


YOU  PLAYED  AND  SANG 


BY   WILLIAM   ERNEST    HENLEY 

You  played  and  sang  a  snatch  of  song, 

A  song  that  all  too-well  we  knew; 
But  whither  had  flown  the  ancient  wrong, 

And  was  it  really  I  and  You? 
O,  the  end  of  life's  to  live 

And  pay  in  pence  the  common  debt, 
What  should  it  cost  us  to  forgive 

Whose  daily  task  is  to  forget  ? 

You  babbled  in  the  well-known  voice — 

Not  new,  not  new  the  words  you  said. 
You  touched  me  off  that  famous  poise, 

That  old  effect,  of  neck  and  head. 
Dear,  was  it  really  You  and  I? 

In  truth  the  riddle's  ill  to  read, 
So  many  are  the  deaths  we  die 

Before  we  can  be  dead  indeed. 


97 


TO  DAPHNE 

BY   SIR   WALTER   BESANT 

LIKE  apple-blossom,  white  and  red; 

Like  hues  of  dawn,   which  fly  too  soon; 
Like  bloom  of  peach,  so  softly  spread; 

Like  thorn  of  May  and  rose  of  June — 
Oh,  sweet!  oh,  fair!  beyond  compare, 

Are  Daphne's  cheeks, 
Are  Daphne's  blushing  cheeks,  I  swear. 

That  pretty  rose,  which  comes  and  goes 

Like  April  sunshine  in  the  sky, 
I  can  command  it  when  I  choose — 

See  how  it  rises  when  I  cry. 
Oh,  sweet!  oh,  fair!  beyond  compare, 

Are  Daphne's  cheeks, 
Are  Daphne's  blushing  cheeks,  I  swear. 

Ah!  when  it  lies  round  lips  and  eyes, 
And  fades  away,  again  to  spring, 

No  lover,  sure,  could  ask  for  more 
Than  still  to  cry,  and  still  to  sing; 


Oh,  sweet !  oh,   fair !  beyond  compare, 

Are  Daphne's  cheeks, 
Are  Daphne's  blushing  cheeks,  I  swear. 


SHE  DWELT  AMONG  THE 
UNTRODDEN  WAYS 

BY   WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH 

SHE  dwelt  among  the  untrodden  ways 
Beside  the  springs  of  Dove; 

A  maid  whom  there  were  none  to  praise, 
And  very  few  to  love. 

A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone 

Half-hidden  from  the  eye! 
— Fair  as  a  star,  when  only  one 

Is  shining  in  the  sky. 

She  lived  unknown,  and  few  could  know 

When  Lucy  ceased  to  be; 
But  she  is  in  her  grave,  and,  oh, 

The  difference  to  me! 
99 


Lir 

I  ($1 


A  MATCH 


BY   ALGERNON   CHARLES    SWINBURNE 

IF  love  were  what  the  rose  is, 

And  I  were  like  the  leaf, 
Our  lives  would  grow  together 
In  sad  or  singing  weather, 
Blown  fields  or  flowerful  closes, 
Green  pleasure  or  gray  grief; 
If  love  were  what  the  rose  is, 
And  I  were  like  the  leaf. 

If  I  were  what  the  words  are, 
And  love  were  like  the  tune, 
With  double  sound  and  single 
Delight  our  lips  would  mingle, 
With  kisses  glad  as  birds  are 

That  get  sweet  rain  at  noon; 
If  I  were  what  the  words  are, 
And  love  were  like  the  tune. 


If 


you  were  life,  my  darling, 
And  I,  your  love,  were  death, 
100 


We'd  shine  and  snow  together 

Ere  March  made  sweet  the  weather 

With  daffodil  and  starling 

And  hours  of  fruitful  breath; 
If  you  were  life,  my  darling, 

And  I,  your  love,  were  death. 

If  you  were  thrall  to  sorrow, 

And  I  were  page  to  joy, 
We'd  play  for  lives  and  seasons 
With  loving  looks  and  treasons 
And  tears  of  night  and  morrow 
And  laughs  of  maid  and  boy; 
If  you  were  thrall  to  sorrow, 
And  I  were  page  to  joy. 

If  you  were  April's  lady, 

And  I  were  lord  in  May, 
We'd  throw  with  leaves  for  hours 
And  draw  for  days  with  flowers, 
Till  day  like  night  were  shady 

And  night  were  bright  like  day; 
If  you  were  April's  lady, 
And  I  were  lord  in  May. 
101 


LISTENING 

BY   C.   G.    ROSSETTI 

SHE  listen'd  like  a  cushat  dove 
That  listens  to  its  mate  alone: 
She  listen'd  like  a  cushat  dove 
That  loves  but  only  one. 

Not  fair  as  men  would  reckon  fair, 
Nor  noble  as  they  count  the  line: 
Only  as  graceful  as  a  bough, 

And  tendrils  of  the  vine: 
Only  as  noble  as  sweet  Eve, 

Your  ancestress  and  mine. 

And  downcast  were  her  dovelike  eyes 
And  downcast  was  her  tender  cheek; 
Her  pulses  flutter'd  like  a  dove 
To  hear  him  speak. 


m 

VIA 


102 


She  Listen'd  Like  a 
Cushat  Dove 


•v* 


WE  PARTED  IN  SADNESS 


BY   CHARLES   FENNO    HOFFMAN 

WE   parted   in   sadness,    but   spoke   not   of 

parting; 
We  talk'd  not  of  hopes  that  we  both  must 

resign, 
I  saw  not  her  eyes,  and  but  one  tear-drop 

starting, 
Fell  down  on  her  hand  as  it  trembled  in 

mine  : 
Each    felt    that    the    past    we    could    never 

recover, 
Each  felt  that  the  future  no  hope  could 

restore ; 
She  shudder'd  at  wringing  the  heart  of  her 

lover, 
/  dared  not  to  say  1  must  meet  her  no  more. 

Long  years  have  gone  by,   and  the  spring- 
time smiles  ever 

As  o'er  our  young  loves  it  first  smiled  in 
their  birth. 

103 


Long  years  have  gone  by,  yet  that  parting, 

O !  never 

Can  it  be  forgotten  by  either  on  earth. 
The  note  of  each  wild  bird  that  carols  toward 

heaven, 
Must  tell  her  of  swift-winged  hopes  that 

were  mine, 
And  the  dew  that  steals  over  each  blossom  at 

even, 

Tells  me  of  the  tear-drop  that  wept  their 
decline. 

JENNY  KISSED  ME 

BY   LEIGH  HUNT 

JENNY  kissed  me  when  we  met, 

Jumping  from  the  chair  she  sat  in; 
Time,  you  thief!  who  love  to  get 

Sweets  into  your  list,  put  that  in. 
Say  I'm  weary,  say  I'm  sad; 

Say  that  health  and  wealth  have  missed 

me; 
Say  I'm  growing  old,  but  add — 

Jenny  kissed  me ! 


A  BALLADE  OF  ROSES 

BY   JUSTIN    HUNTLY   M'CARTHY 

WHEN  Venus  saw  Ascanius  sleep 

On  sweet  Cythera's  snow-white  roses 
His  face  like  Aden's  made  her  weep, 

And  long  to  kiss  him  where  he  dozes; 
But  fearing  to  disturb  the  boy, 

She  kissed  the  pallid  blooms  instead, 
Which  blushed  and  kept  their  blush  for  joy, 

When  Venus  kissed  white  roses  red. 

Straight  of  these  roses  she  did  reap 

Sufficient  store  of  pleasant  posies, 
And  coming  from  Cythera's  steep 

Where  every  fragrant  flower  that  grows  is, 
She  tossed  them  for  the  winds  to  toy 

And  frolic  with  till  they  were  dead. 
Heaven  taught  the  earth  a  fair  employ 

When  Venus  kissed  white  roses  red. 

For  each  red  rose  the  symbol  deep 
In  its  sad,  happy  heart  incloses 
105 


Of  kisses  making  love's  heart  leap, 
And  every  summer  wind  that  blows  is 

A  prayer  that  ladies  be  not  coy 
Of  kisses  ere  brief  life  be  sped. 

There  gleamed  more  gold  in  earth's  alloy 
When  Venus  kissed  white  roses  red. 

Envoy 

All  lovers  true  since  windy  Troy 

Flamed  for  a  woman's  golden  head, 

You  gained  surcease  from  life's  annoy 
When  Venus  kissed  white  roses  red. 


MY  LOVE  TO  ME 


BY  WILLIAM  ERNEST   HENLEY 

MY  love  to  me  is  always  kind: 
She  neither  storms,  nor  is  she  pined; 
She  does  not  plead  with  tears  or  sighs, 
But  gentle  words  and  soft  replies — 
Dear  earnests  of  the  thought  behind. 

They  say  the  little  god  is  blind, 

They  do  not  count  him  quite  too  wise; 
Yet  he,  somehow,  could  bring  and  bind 
My  love  to  me. 

And  sweetest  nut  hath  sourest  rind  ? 
It  may  be  so;  but  she  I  prize 
Is  even  lovelier  in  mine  eyes 

Than  good  and  gracious  to  my  mind. 

I  bless  the  fortune  that  consigned 

My  love  to  me. 


107 


WITH  STRAWBERRIES 

BY  WILLIAM  ERNEST   HENLEY 

WITH  strawberries  we  filled  a  tray, 
And  then  we  drove  away,  away 

Along  the  links  beside  the  sea, 

Where  wave  and  wind  were  light  and  free, 
And  August  felt  as  fresh  as  May. 

And  where  the  springy  turf  was  gay 
With  thyme  and  balm  and  many  a  spray. 
Of  wild  roses,  you  tempted  me 
With  strawberries! 

A  shadowy  sail,  silent  and  gray, 

Stole  like  a  ghost  across  the  bay; 
But  none  could  hear  me  ask  my  fee, 
And  none  could  know  what  came  to  be. 

Can  sweethearts  all  their  thirst  allay 
With  strawberries? 


BALLADE  OF  FORGOTTEN  LOVES 


BY  ARTHUR    GRISSOM 

SOME  poets  sing  of  sweethearts  dead, 

Some  sing  of  true  loves  far  away; 
Some  sing  of  those  that  others  wed, 

And  some  of  idols  turned  to  clay. 

I  sing  a  pensive  roundelay 
To  sweethearts  of  a  doubtful  lot, 

The  passions  vanished  in  a  day — 
The  little  loves  that  I've  forgot. 

For,  as  the  happy  years  have  sped, 

And  golden  dreams  have  changed  to  gray, 

How  oft  the  flame  of  love  was  fed 

By  glance,  or  smile,  from  Maud  or  May, 
When  wayward  Cupid  was  at  play; 

Mere  fancies,  formed  of  who  knows  what, 
But  still  my  debt  I  ne'er  can  pay — 

The  little  loves  that  I've  forgot. 

O  joyous  hours  forever  fled! 

O  sudden  hopes  that  would  not  stay! 
109 


Held  only  by  the  slender  thread 
Of  memory  that's  all  astray. 
Their  very  names  I  cannot  say. 

Time's  will  is  done,  I  know  them  not; 
But  blessings  on  them  all,  I  pray — 

The  little  loves  that  I've  forgot. 

ENVOI 

Sweetheart,  why  foolish  fears  betray? 

Ours  is  the  one  true  lovers'  knot; 
Note  well  the  burden  of  my  lay — 

The  little  loves  that  I've  forgot. 


The  Bathers 


** 


ON  NEWPORT  BEACH 

BY    H.    C.    BUNKER 

(Rondeau) 

ON  Newport  beach  there  ran  right  merrily, 
In  dainty  navy  blue  clothed  to  the  knee, 
Thence  to  the  foot  in  white  au  naturel, 
A  little  maid.     Fair  was  she,  truth  to  tell, 
As  Oceanus'  child  Callirrhoe. 
In  the  soft  sand  lay  one  small  shell,  its  wee 
Keen  scallops  tinct  with  faint  hues,  such  as  be 
In  girlish  cheeks.   In  some  old  storm  it  fell 
On  Newport  Beach. 

There  was  a  bather  of  the  species  he, 
Who  saw  the  little  maid  go  toward  the  sea; 
Rushing  to  help  her  through  the  billowy 

swell, 

He  set  his  sole  upon  the  little  shell, 
And  heaped  profanely  phrased  obloquy 
On  Newport  Beach. 


in 


SONG 

BY   ARTHUR  o'SHAUGHNESSY 

I  MADE  another  garden,  yea, 

For  my  new  love; 
I  left  the  dead  rose  where  it  lay, 

And  set  the  new  above. 
Why  did  the  summer  not  begin? 

Why  did  my  heart  not  haste? 
My  old  love  came  and  walk'd  therein, 

And  laid  the  garden  waste. 

She  enter'd  with  her  weary  smile, 

Just  as  of  old; 
She  look'd  around  a  little  while, 

And  shiver'd  at  the  cold. 
Her  passing  touch  was  death  to  all, 

Her  passing  look  a  blight: 
She  made  the  white  rose-petals  fall, 

And  turn'd  the  red  rose  white. 

Her  pale  robe,  clinging  to  the  grass, 
Seem'd  like  a  snake 

112 


That  bit  the  grass  and  ground,  alas  1 
And  a  sad  trail  did  make. 

She  went  up  slowly  to  the  gate; 
And  there,  just  as  of  yore, 

She  turn'd  back  at  the  last  to  wait, 
And  say  farewell  once  more. 


LOVE  NOTES 

BY  WILLIAM   ERNEST   HENLEY 

THE  nightingale  has  a  lyre  of  gold, 

The  lark's  is  a  clarion  call, 
And  the  blackbird  plays  but  a  boxwood  flute, 

But  I  love  him  best  of  all. 

For  his  song  is  all  of  the  joy  of  life, 
And  we  in  the  mad  spring  weather, 

We  two  have  listened  till  he  sang 
Our  hearts  and  lips  together. 


IN  THE  EVENING 

BY    HAMILTON   AIDE 

O  LOVE,  when  life  was  young,  I  knew 
But  little  what  you  were  to  be, — 
A  light  more  bounteous  to  me 

While  lengthening  shadows  grew. 

Have  I  been  silent,  Love,  or  cold? 
It  may  be  you  have  little  guessed 
All  the  strong  love,  half  unexpressed, 

Stronger,  as  I  grew  old. 

But,  Darling,  when  the  day  is  done, 
And  we  together  walk  at  peace, 
In  that  bright  world,  where  sorrows  cease, 

Beyond  the  set  of  sun : 

What  best  of  me  you  brought  to  light 
On  this  dark  earth  shall  there  expand, 
And  each  shall  wholly  understand 

What  now  is  hid  from  sight. 


A  NICE  CORRESPONDENT 

BY   FREDERICK  LOCKER 

THE  glow  and  the  glory  are  plighted 

To  darkness,  for  evening  is  come; 
The  lamp  in  Glebe  Cottage  is  lighted, 

The  birds  and  the  sheep-bells  are  dumb. 
I'm  alone,  for  the  others  have  flitted 

To  dine  with  a  neighbor  at  Kew; 
Alone,  but  I'm  not  to  be  pitied, — 

I'm  thinking  of  you  I 

I  wish  you  were  here!     Were  I  duller 

Than  dull,  you'd  be  dearer  than  dear; 
I'm  drest  in  your  favorite  color, — 

Dear  Fred,  how  I  wish  you  were  here! 
I'm  wearing  my  lazuli  necklace, 

The  necklace  you  fasten'd  askew; 
Was  there  ever  so  rude  or  so  reckless 

A  darling  as  you? 

I  want  you  to  come  and  pass  sentence 
On  two  or  three  books  with  a  plot: 


Of  course  you  know  "Janet's  Repentance"? 

I'm  reading  Sir  Waverley  Scott. 
That  story  of  Edgar  and  Lucy, 

How  thrilling,  romantic,  and  true  I 
The  Master  (his  bride  was  a  goosey!) 

Reminds  me  of  you. 

They  tell  me  Cockaigne  has  been  crowning 

A  Poet  whose  garland  endures; 
It  was  you  that  first  told  me  of  Browning, — 

That  stupid  old  Browning  of  yours! 
His  vogue  and  his  verve  are  alarming, 

I'm  anxious  to  give  him  his  due, 
But,  Fred,  he's  not  nearly  so  charming 

A  poet  as  you ! 

I  heard  how  you  shot  at  The  Beeches, 

I  saw  how  you  rode  Chanticleer, 
I  have  read  the  report  of  your  speeches, 

And  echoed  the  echoing  cheer. 
There's  a  whisper  of  hearts  you  are  breaking, 

Dear  Fred,  I  believe  it,  I  do ! 
Small  marvel  that  Folly  is  making 

Her  idol  of  you. 

116 


Alas  for  the  world,  and  its  dearly 

Bought  triumph,  its  fugitive  bliss; 
Sometimes  I  half  wish  I  were  merely 

A  plain  or  a  penniless  miss; 
But,  perhaps,  one  is  blest  with  "  a  measure 

Of  pelf,"  and  I'm  not  sorry,  too, 
That  I'm  pretty,  because  'tis  a  pleasure, 

My  dearest,  to  you ! 

Your  whim  is  for  frolic  and  fashion, 

Your  taste  is  for  letters  and  art: — 
This  rhyme  is  the  commonplace  passion 

That  glows  in  a  fond  woman's  heart; 
Lay  it  by  in  some  sacred  deposit 

For  relics, — we  all  have  a  few! 
Love,  some  day  they'll  print  it,  because  it 

Was  written  to  you. 


117 


WHICH? 


"  HARVARD   LAMPOON  " 

BLONDE  or  brunette?    Shall  Ethel  fair, 
My  winter  girl,  with  golden  hair, 
Or  Maud,  whose  dark  brown  eyes  bewitch, — 
My  summer  girl, — now  govern? 
Which? 

Shall  cold  Bostonianism  rule? 
Shall  Love  teach  Browning  in  his  school? 
Or  shall  coy  glances,  passion-rich, 
Compel  my  fond  allegiance? 
Which? 

And  yet  the  solving's  really  clear, 
For  winter's  gone  and  summer's  here. 
I  want  no  statue  in  a  niche, 
So  Cupid  says,  "  Let  Maud  be 
1  Which  I'" 


Which? 


THE  WANDERER 

BY  AUSTIN  DOB  SON 

LOVE  comes  back  to  his  vacant  dwelling, — 
The  old,  old  Love  that  we  knew  of  yore! 

We  see  him  stand  by  the  open  door, 

With  his  great  eyes  sad,  and  his  bosom 
swelling. 

He  makes  as  though,  in  our  arms  repelling, 
He  fain  would  lie  as  he  lay  before; 

Love  comes  back  to  his  vacant  dwelling, — 
The  old,  old  Love  that  we  knew  of  yore ! 

Ah,  who  shall  help  us  from  overspelling 
That  sweet,  forgotten,  forbidden  lore! 
E'en  as  we  doubt  in  our  heart  once  more, 
With  a  rush  of  tears  to  our  eyelids  welling, 
Love  comes  back  to  his  vacant  dwelling. 


119 


NO  JEWELL'D  BEAUTY 

BY  GERALD  MASSEY 

No  jewell'd  beauty  is  my  love; 

Yet  in  her  earnest  face 
There's  such  a  world  of  tenderness, 

She  needs  no  other  grace. 
Her  smiles  and  voice  around  my  life 

In  light  and  music  twine, 
And  dear,  O  very  dear  to  me, 

Is  this  sweet  Love  of  mine. 

O  joy !  to  know  there's  one  fond  heart 

Beats  ever  true  to  me: 
It  sets  mine  leaping  like  a  lyre, 

In  sweetest  melody. 
My  soul  up-springs,  a  Deity, 

To  hear  her  voice  divine! 
And  dear,  O  very  dear  to  me, 

Is  this  sweet  Love  of  mine. 

If  ever  I  have  sigh'd  for  wealth, 
'Twas  all  for  her,  I  trow; 
1 20 


And  if  I  win  Fame's  victor-wreath, 
I'll  twine  it  on  her  brow. 

There  may  be  forms  more  beautiful, 
And  souls  of  sunnier  shine; 

But  none,  O  none  so  dear  to  me, 
As  this  sweet  Love  of  mine. 


121 


WHEN  SHE  COMES  HOME 


BY    JAMES    WHITCOMB    RILEY 

WHEN  she  comes  home  again!    A  thousand 

ways 

I  fashion,  to  myself,  the  tenderness 
Of  my  glad  welcome:  I  shall  tremble — yes; 
And  touch  her,  as  when  first  in  the  old  days 
I  touched  her  girlish  hand,  nor  dared  upraise 
Mine  eyes,  such  was  my  faint  heart's  sweet 

distress. 

Then  silence:  and  the  perfume  of  her  dress: 
The  room  will  sway  a  little,  and  a  haze 
Cloy  eyesight — soulsight,  even — for  a  space; 
And  tears — yes;   and  the  ache  here  in  the 

throat, 
To  know  that  I  so  ill  deserve  the  place 

lake  for  me ;  and  the  sobbing  note 
th  kisses,  ere  the  tearful  face 
hidden  in  the  old  embrace. 


From  LOVE  LYRICS,  by  James  Whitcomb  Riley.      Copyright,  1898. 
Used  by  special  permission  of  the  publishers, The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company. 


TRUE  WOMAN— HER  HEAVEN 

BY  D.   G.   ROSSETTI 

IF  to  grow  old  in  Heaven  is  to  grow  young 
(As  the  Seer  saw  and  said),  then  blest 

were  he 
With    you    for   evermore,    whose    heaven 

should  be 
True  Woman,  she  whom  these  weak  notes 

have  sung 
Here    and    hereafter, — choir-strains    of    her 

tongue, — 
Sky-spaces  of  her  eyes, — sweet  signs  that 

flee 

About  her  soul's  immediate  sanctuary, — 
Were  Paradise  all  uttermost  worlds  among. 

The  sunrise  blooms  and  withers  on  the  hill 
Like  any  hillflower;  and  the  noblest  troth 
Dies  here  to   dust.     Yet   shall  Heaven's 

promise  clothe 

Even  yet  those  lovers  who  have  cherished  still 
This  test  for  love : — in  every  kiss  sealed  fast 
To  feel  the  first  kiss  and  forebode  the  last. 
123 


OH,   NO— NOT  E'EN  WHEN   FIRST 
WE  LOVED 


BY   THOMAS    MOORE 

OH,  no — not  e'en  when  first  we  loved, 

Wert  thou  as  dear  as  now  thou  art; 
Thy  beauty  then  my  senses  moved, 

But  now  thy  virtues  bind  my  heart. 
What  was  but  Passion's  sigh  before, 

Has  since  been  turn'd  to   Reason's  vow; 
And,  though  I  then  might  lov  thee  more, 

Trust  me,  I  love  thee  better  now. 

Although  my  heart  in  earlier  youth 

Might  kindle  with  more  wild  desire, 
Believe  me,  it  has  gain'd  in  truth 

Much  more  than  it  has  lost  in  fire. 
The  flame  now  warms  my  inmost  core 

That  then  but  sparkled  o'er  my  brow, 
And,  though  I  seem'd  to  love  thee  more, 

Yet,  oh,  I  love  thee  better  now. 


AMONG  THE  HEATHER 

BY   GEORGE   ARNOLD 

WINTRY  winds  are  blowing  cold 

On  the  moors  of  purple  heather, 
Where  in  summer  days  of  old 
Hand  in  hand  we  idly  strolled, 

Thou  and  I  together. 
But  those  sunny  days  are  past, 

And  no  more  we  walk  together 
Where  the  snow,  on  every  blast, 

Whirls  above  the  heather. 

On  the  dreary  moorland  now 

In  the  storm  1  wander,  lonely, 
Longing — love  alone  knows  how — 
For  thy  kiss  on  lips  and  brow, 

Longing  for  thee  only : 
Life  can  bring  me  nought  but  pain 

Till  among  the  purple  heather 
Hand  in  hand  we  walk  again, — 

Thou  and  I  together! 

125 


THEY  KNOW  NOT  MY  HEART 

BY   THOMAS    MOORE 

THEY  know  not  my  heart,  who  believe  there 

can  be 

One  stain  of  this  earth  in  its  feelings  for  thee; 
Who   think,    while   I    see    thee    in    beauty's 

young  hour, 
As  pure  as  the  morning's  first  dew  on  the 

flower, 
I    could   harm   what    I    love, — as   the   sun's 

wanton  ray 
But  smiles  on  the  dew-drop  to  waste  it  away. 

No — beaming    with    light    as    those    young 

features  are, 
There's   a   light   round   thy   heart   which   is 

lovelier  far: 
It  is  not  that  cheek — 'tis  the  soul  dawning 

clear 
Thro'  its  innocent  blush  makes 


more,  because  Heaven 


HOW  MANY  TIMES 


BY   THOMAS    LOVELL    BEDDOES 

How  many  times  do  I  love  thee,   dear? 
Tell  me  how  many  thoughts  there  be 
In  the  atmosphere 
Of  a  new-fallen  year, 
Whose  white  and  sable  hours  appear 

The  latest  flake  of  Eternity: 
So  many  times  do  I  love  thee,  dear. 

How  many  times  do  I  love,  again? 
Tell  me  how  many  beads  there  are 
In  a  silver  chain 
Of  the  evening  rain, 
Unraveled  from  the  tumbling  main, 

And  threading  the  eye  of  a  yellow  star: 
So  many  times  do  I  love,  again. 


127 


FAREWELL!    IF   EVER    FONDEST 
PRAYER 


BY  LORD  BYRON 

FAREWELL!  if  ever  fondest  prayer 

For  other's  weal  availed  on  high, 
Mine  will  not  all  be  lost  in  air, 

But  waft  thy  name  beyond  the  sky. 
'Twere  vain  to  speak,  to  weep,  to  sigh; 

Oh !  more  than  tears  of  blood  can  tell, 
When  wrung  from  guilt's  expiring  eye, 

Are  in  that  word — Farewell! — Farewell! 

These  lips  are  mute,  these  eyes  are  dry; 

But  in  my  breast  and  in  my  brain, 
Awake  the  pangs  that  pass  not  by, 

The  thought  that  ne'er  shall  sleep  again. 
My  soul  nor  deigns,  nor  dares  complain, 

Though  grief  and  passion  there  rebel: 
I  only  know  we  loved  in  vain — 

I  only  feel — Farewell ! — Farewell  1 


J 


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